


Samsara

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Abuse is NOT from ship relationship, Age Difference, But very vaguely described interfacing, Canonical Character Death, Filling in Worldbuilding Gaps, Hurt/Comfort, I swear there's sweet in this bittersweet, M/M, Physical Abuse, Reincarnation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Verbal Abuse, Wildbreak is NOT a KOBD child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: From the day he was forged, Wildbreak had felt like there was something missing; some motivation or drive or desire that had been left behind in the Allspark.Something he should know but didn’t.Reincarnation AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I return with something that both is and isn't more KOBD oops.
> 
> While we all love the headcanon of Wildbreak as a KOBD baby, I wanted to take a different route and explore the idea that had floated around at some point about Wildbreak being a reincarnation of Breakdown. What that looks like, what the realization process is like, etc. So here we are.
> 
> I did a lot of headcanoning about the Stunticons (and Breakdown by proxy), using bits and pieces of what I could find on the wiki pages for Aligned to fill in the gaps, so hopefully you enjoy my take on them and sweet, perfect Wildbreak.
> 
> Because my boy deserves some love.

“Why you always getting distracted by cars like that?”

“What?” Wildbreak stammered, blinking as he tore his gaze away from the road and back to his partner. Dragstrip didn’t look the least bit amused.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me. You know what I’m talking about.” he insisted as he punched Wildbreak in the shoulder. Wildbreak yelped and tried to scoot away, but Dragstrip had him by the arm in the blink of an optic. “Oh no you don’t. If I’m gonna be the one actually coming up with plans to get us places, the least you could do is try to help! Instead you get all misty-opticked every time a pretty red car whizzes by.”

Wildbreak sullenly looked away, back out to the highway in the distance. The squishies wouldn’t see them up here, but it was easy to just watch the traffic go by while Dragstrip did the thinking for them.

The red sports car that had caught his optic was long gone.

“Dunno,” Wildbreak mumbled with a shrug. Dragstrip’s grip on his arm softened some with that. “Guess I just like looking at ‘em.”

Dragstrip was quiet before his grip tightened. Wildbreak whined, about to complain – he had just waxed! – but then Dragstrip was accusing, “You don’t wanna frag that Autobot brat, do ya? I swear, Wildbreak–”

“What–No! Don’t be gross, Dragstrip, you know I wouldn’t—come on, buddy, you gotta believe me!”

It took several minutes of shoving and shouting before Dragstrip finally settled down, though it was on top of Wildbreak’s back as he was forced to sprawl across the ground. Still, it meant that Dragstrip wasn’t asking anymore questions and was instead back to talking out loud about possible plans and schemes. This time, Wildbreak did his best to pay attention now and again so he could agree with Dragstrip and keep him content.

And Wildbreak could still stare out towards the highway, confused about the longing in his spark but knowing that keeping an optic open and searching was the best he could do to keep it content too.

Wildbreak wasn’t sure what he was looking for, just that he hadn’t seen it yet and needed to keep looking.

And that his spark did always skip a pulse when he saw a red paintjob.

* * *

From the day he was forged, Wildbreak had felt like there was something missing; some motivation or drive or desire that had been left behind in the Allspark.

Something he should know but didn’t.

Which was how he ended up here. Dragstrip had snapped him up days after he had been forged and Wildbreak went along with it. He didn’t have any plans or aspirations of his own, after all, so why not? And then Motormaster had grabbed them both and along they went.

For that reason, combining hadn’t been difficult for Wildbreak to learn. If anything, it felt like an extension of how he already lived his life: following other mecha and making himself useful when asked.

Becoming Dragbreak was the ultimate in teamwork, making them bigger and stronger, boosting Wildbreak’s confidence by proxy. They weren’t as big or powerful as Menasor, but it was comfortable as Dragbreak. It was easy. Menasor was a trickier balance to maintain with that many personalities, especially when his teammates were all so much more assertive than Wildbreak. Learning to create Menasor had taken a while, during which Wildbreak had just hung back and let them all yell and fight until they finally figured it out.

Which meant that Motormaster had beat the stunticons enough times that they finally gave up.

Wildbreak didn’t ever try to gain control in any of his combiner forms, or really any facet of his life. He readily gave it away and followed commands as best he could to avoid trouble.

Dragstrip complained constantly about how Wildbreak didn’t have any initiative, would grab him by the shoulders and yell, “Come on, ya gotta want something, don’tcha? What do you want? What keeps you driving?!”

And Wildbreak couldn’t do anything but shrug and say, “Dunno.”

Only once, late at night, when Dragstrip was being nice and laughing and sharing some highgrade they had managed to nab, had Wildbreak elaborated.

“It’s not that I don’t want nothing. I do want something! But I just don’t know what that something is.”

“What d’ya mean you don’t know?”

“I dun–”

Dragstrip had elbowed him and said, “Oh no, none of that! Come on, you can tell your old pal.”

Wildbreak took a swig of the highgrade, grimacing and choking on it before swallowing.

“I can’t because it’s just – it’s always been this way for me, I guess. There’s something I want, something I’ve always wanted, but it’s just this big blank spot in my processor. Like my spark knows but my processor doesn’t know what it’s talking about.”

After a moment of silence, Dragstrip snorted, muttering, “Weirdo” as he sat up, grabbed the highgrade and took a long swig.

“Well, don’t you worry, Wildbreak. If you stick with me, I’ll make sure we get what we want, ya hear? Motormaster better watch himself because–”

Wildbreak laid there, watching Dragstrip, and wondered what it was like to know what he was driving after.

* * *

They totally had the Autobots beat. Dragbreak had them beat! Dragstrip’s presence swelled around Wildbreak, bright and victorious and dragging him up into the triumph with him, because they were going to win! With this weapons cache they would really be able to bring the heat, show Motormaster they weren’t to be messed with, that he should promote them, respect them—

“Someone call a doctor?”

Dragbreak didn’t have a chance to do anything before a car rammed into the side of his legs, sending him toppling over with a loud and painful crash. Dragstrip roared with outrage while Wildbreak drew himself in further, as if he could escape the pain in their shared frame by giving more control of it over to Dragstrip.

With a growl of their combined engines, Dragbreak got to his pedes, scanning for this new opponent.

A perfectly buffed and waxed and very red sports car swung his back wheels around towards the Autobots before transforming.

Dragstrip made to sprint forward.

Wildbreak was frozen to the spot.

Dragbreak faltered, stumbling over his pedes.

“Knockout? What’re you doing here?!” stammered the Autobot leader.

“What? I’m not allowed to visit an old friend?” he asked with blatant amusement, though his optics never left Dragbreak and he pulled a weapon from his back, some staff that was suddenly flashing with charge. His smile was cruel looking and beautiful. “Or make a few enemies?”

Dragstrip raged and made to rush the new enemy.

Wildbreak’s spark raced and wobbled and something he couldn’t name was choking him.

Dragbreak faltered again before, with a great shudder, he splintered.

They both landed on their afts, completely unprepared for the abrupt separation. Wildbreak’s processor spun because they had never fallen out of synch like that, why was his spark roiling in his chest, what was happening to him, who was this Knockout guy—

A servo grabbed Wildbreak by the audial finial, threatening to rip it off with how strongly it pulled, and that managed to snap Wildbreak out of it. His optics left the crimson paintjob to see Dragstrip glaring at him murderously.

Wildbreak never questioned a retreat, but as they transformed and made a run for it, his spark thrashed in its casing.

But he didn’t dare question Dragstrip. He was so mad already and there was no doubt that Wildbreak would be feeling the brunt of that anger as soon as they were safe, so why make it worse for himself?

* * *

“What happened?! Why did you separate from me?!”

“I didn’t mean to—ow! Dragstrip, please—!“

“You don’t stand up to me! You don’t  _ever_  stand up to me!!” It was hard to tell if it was a command or just a bewildered statement of fact. His name was Wildbreak and his paintjob was blue and he never stood up to anyone.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—hey, hey, come on, that hurts!”

“Not until I know what that scrap out there was!”

Dragstrip was livid, but worse than that he was confused, and Wildbreak wished he had an answer for his partner. But he had nothing, no matter how Dragstrip yelled or shoved. Wildbreak worried if he was sick, or his spark was failing, or any of the multitudes of things that could be wrong that were causing the ache in his chest.

It wasn’t until late that night, when Dragstrip had finally tired himself out and left Wildbreak staring up at the stars, dinged and dented with ringing audials and his servo resting on his chest over his spark, that he realized. It was something Wildbreak had only experienced peripherally from Dragstrip, from Heatseeker and Slashmark and Motormaster, when they were wrapped up together in combination.

It felt like motivation.

* * *

Night after night, day after day, drive after drive after drive, and Wildbreak couldn’t so much as catch a glimpse of that mech. Sometimes he would slip away when Dragstrip was busy or recharging. Sometimes Dragstrip saw him leaving and Wildbreak would have to quietly admit it was his spark.

“It’s just not agreeing with my processor is all. Figure a drive will help, you know?”

And Dragstrip would glower, but each time he let Wildbreak go.

“Sort yourself out, idiot.”

They hadn’t tried combining again. It was only a matter of time, but for once they were both hesitating, and Wildbreak worried about how much Dragstrip thought about the sensation of their minds and frames rejecting each other for the first time in their lives.

Wildbreak was desperately afraid he would mess it up again.

So when Wildbreak wasn’t meekly following Dragstrip, he was off driving down every road he could find. Busy streets, long never-ending highways, winding forest routes. Every red paintjob caught his attention, but every time it was the wrong car and disappointment overwhelmed him.

And every time Wildbreak returned to Dragstrip’s side, unsuccessful and dejected, he would swear to himself he’d just give it up. It wasn’t worth all this stress.

And then out Wildbreak would go again, engine roaring as he searched.

* * *

It had been over a week before finally Wildbreak spotted him. The right frame, the right colors, the right decals and detailing.

Wildbreak’s spark pulsed hard and he revved his engine as he drifted into a sharp u-turn to get onto the other side of the highway.

The sun was setting in the distance, throwing shades of yellow, orange, and red across the road where it could get through the trees flanking the road. It was quiet, only a couple other cars on the road, and none of them going nearly as fast as that crimson speedster as he swerved around them and raced down the asphalt. Wildbreak picked up his pace, and with each car he passed he was one closer to his goal.

However, the sneaking question of what, exactly, he wanted to do when he caught up with Knockout was finally starting to dawn on him. It wasn’t like Wildbreak could just ask “Why do you make my spark feel like it’s going to burn itself out?”

Maybe he should have talked to Dragstrip about it. Dragstrip would know what to do. Course, Dragstrip would have also been furious because Knockout seemed to be an Autobot, and Wildbreak didn’t want to fight him, so—

Without slowing down at all, Knockout took an exit that led further into the woods, and Wildbreak raced to follow after.

Wildbreak would just have to figure it out later.

The new road was full of sharp corners, forcing Wildbreak to drift and brake and really push his driving skills to the tests to keep up. Every time the road curved behind trees, hiding Knockout for moments at a time, Wildbreak would fret that when he took the corner himself, the red mech would be gone. Yet, every time he made his way around the corner, he’d spot a flash of crimson before Knockout sped around another turn.

Until Wildbreak took a turn and found himself staring at a long road and Knockout nowhere to be seen.

Wildbreak skidded to a halt and transformed, swinging his helm around wildly to find nothing but road and trees and dirt.

“Uh, hey, where’d you go?” Wildbreak called out, spinning to check behind him. “I promise I don’t wanna fight or nothing!” There was shuffling in the woods off to one side and Wildbreak turned towards the area, servos up and flat in a placating manner as he moved that way. “I just, uh. I guess I just wanted to meet you?” Up close, it was clear there were pede tracks in the soft earth, so Wildbreak carefully crept between the two trees that the trail led through. “Your name’s Knockout, right? Sorry if I freaked you out.”

It was a little darker in the shade of the trees, but not so much that Wildbreak couldn’t still follow the tracks. However, they suddenly took a sharp left, and when Wildbreak turned his helm to follow the path, noticing them heading back towards the road, that’s when something heavy slammed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Wildbreak yelped as he went down, rolling over onto his back to complain.

However, the sharp pressure of a staff against his neck had Wildbreak going completely still.

Knockout peered down at him, crimson optics bright and his mouth curled into a sneer. Every inch of the mech was menacing, yet Wildbreak’s spark fluttered with something that definitely wasn’t fear.

“Why are you following me?” Knockout demanded, his voice rich despite the sharpness of his tone. Wildbreak squirmed which just earned him that sharp point pressing down harder, threatening to just scrape his paintjob if he was lucky.

“To meet you?” Wildbreak managed, aware that his optics were wide.

Knockout’s gaze narrowed.

“Well, consider yourself acquainted.”

After a moment of psyching himself up, Wildbreak said, “And maybe to talk?”

Knockout snorted.

“What could you possibly want with a dirty traitor like me? One of your little friends get himself scrapped bad enough that you would come crawling to scum like me?” Knockout mocked as he moved the staff under Wildbreak’s chin, lifting it up and evaluating Wildbreak. “And this time, try to not make your answer sound like a question.”

Wildbreak blinked.

“What?”

Knockout’s optics rolled and the staff finally lifted away from Wildbreak’s plating, but only far enough away that when it lit up and snapped with charge it didn’t immediately arc into Wildbreak’s frame.

But the staff did linger and Wildbreak knew a threat when he saw one.

“W-wait, wait, listen, I really don’t know what you’re talking about!” Wildbreak insisted, lifting his servos up with open palms. “If this is about the war then I don’t know nothing about it!”

Knockout looked unconvinced as he said, “You knew my name.”

“Because that Autobot said it! I-I swear, that’s the only reason I know it. I’ve never seen or heard about you before that, honest.”

There was a moment when the only sound was the crackling of the staff.

“When were you forged.”

“After the war,” Wildbreak admitted. “First batch of new sparks.”

And then it powered down.

“Explains a lot,” Knockout said snidely. “So then, what’s a new forged like you doing chasing after me?”

Wildbreak’s frame relaxed some against the soft dirt.

“Uh, well–”

“It better not sound like a question.”

Wildbreak swallowed hard before starting again. “But I don’t really know exactly. Which I know sounds dumb, but I just – I wanted to meet you and talk to you, at least, and I guess I thought I’d figure it out from there.”

Knockout stared down at him before smirking.

Wildbreak’s spark fluttered again.

“While that’s flattering, I’m a bit old for you, kid.” The staff finally lifted away completely and Knockout slipped it into his subspace. “Why don’t you go stalk someone your own age?”

Wildbreak sat up quickly when Knockout turned to walk away, scrambling as he said, “Whoa, that’s not—I mean, I guess maybe that’s part of it, I dunno.” It took a couple seconds to get back up onto his pedes and Wildbreak could feel the dirt and debris cascading off his back, every inch of him dying to wash it off, but for now he was focused on the bemused look on Knockout’s face as he looked over his shoulder. “But it’s not just that, I swear.”

Knockout’s gaze trailed down his frame and back up, evaluating, and Wildbreak twitched when it lingered on his face, on his optics.

“Then what is it?”

That there had never been a ‘something’ before, a motivation or a drive, something that had Wildbreak frantic and working when he could have been just relaxing and avoiding trouble, never something that made his spark want like this, and he still didn’t know what this ‘something’ was, but it had to do with Knockout, he  _knew_ it did, but he didn’t know how, he didn’t—

“I dunno.”

After a beat, Knockout sighed.

“What’s your name?”

“Wildbreak,” he replied, glad to have a question he could answer.

Something odd crossed Knockout’s face, surprised and almost sad, but it was there and gone within moments.

“Alright then, Wildbreak,” Knockout said as he turned his helm away and continued towards the road. “It’s been a while since I’ve had some actual competition, so if you can keep up with me, maybe I’ll be up for a little chat.”

Wildbreak perked up and grinned as he quickly chased after Knockout.


	2. Chapter 2

Knockout didn’t make it easy. Wildbreak had thought him fast before, but now Knockout was a demon on the road, drifting around corners while his engine roared.

But if there was one thing Wildbreak was proud of, it was his own prowess on the road. The Stunticons didn’t demand rule over roads without reason.

It was neck to neck, with Wildbreak slipping past Knockout a few times with an eager rev, and he would swear he heard the other car laugh before gunning his engines and fighting his way back to the front. Knockout even began to play dirty, bumping into Wildbreak occasionally, but Wildbreak knew every dirty trick there was in a race. He might have been young, but driving with his team was never polite or by the rules.

Knockout wouldn’t shake Wildbreak. Not when his spark pulsed wildly like it was.

And by some stroke of luck, after the sun had set and the stars were out, Knockout transformed, vents wide open as heat billowed out, and said, “Alright, alright. I guess you deserve something for that performance.”

* * *

The first time that they talked, Knockout had insisted that Wildbreak tell him all about his life. When Wildbreak had tried to say that it wasn’t very interesting, that Knockout wouldn’t want to hear about all that, Knockout had laughed and said, “It won’t be that long a story anyway, so relax and fess up.”

So Wildbreak had told him about Dragstrip, and about the Stunticons, and the various jobs they had taken over the span of Wildbreak’s life that had led them to Earth. It had been awkward at first, because Knockout was an Autobot, so surely he was judging Wildbreak for the symbol on his chest and all the illegal things he had done.

But Knockout never looked especially shocked. He just nodded and urged Wildbreak on.

It wasn’t until the very end that Knockout asked, “So what’s the end plan for you? If this whole Stunticon business doesn’t pan out?”

Wildbreak blinked at him, confused, because he had never considered what he would do without the Stunticons. But Knockout insisted he needed to come up with a backup plan.

“Loyalty just ends with a knife in your back.”

Wildbreak’s spark had twisted unpleasantly at that, aching like an old wound he didn’t remember receiving.

Wildbreak promised that he’d think about it but only, he shyly added, if Knockout promised they could meet again.

It was probably one of the bravest moves Wildbreak had ever made.

And Knockout had laughed and said he’d stick around the area for a while. He wouldn’t give an exact timeline, but that was enough for Wildbreak.

* * *

“What’re you looking so happy about?”

Wildbreak’s expression turned sheepish in the face of Dragstrip’s scrutiny.

“Just a good drive, I guess.” When Dragstrip didn’t appear satisfied with that answer, Wildbreak continued, “Got to race a guy.”

Dragstrip made a face. “Why would you race with a squishy?”

Wildbreak shrugged as he settled on the slab he usually recharged on.

“Gave me a run for my money,” Wildbreak said, aware that while it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the full truth either since he wasn’t correcting Dragstrip’s assumption. “So I dunno, it was fun.”

Dragstrip didn’t look convinced, but luckily it looked like he just couldn’t believe it would be fun to race with a squishy, not that he doubted the story.

“Whatever. And uh, did that help with your whole business?” Dragstrip asked, gesturing vaguely at Wildbreak, and it was clear he meant his spark.

Truthfully, Wildbreak’s spark felt more turbulent than it ever had before. But it was nice. It felt like victory.

“A little bit,” he admitted. “I think if I just keep driving sometimes it’ll straighten itself out, you know?”

“It better.”

* * *

The second time that they talked, it was a couple days later when finally Wildbreak could get away again. He made it to the same spot as before an hour before sunset and waited, anxious and worried that maybe Knockout wouldn’t show, that they would miss each other or that Knockout had simply decided he wasn’t actually interested.

But as the sun disappeared over the hill in the distance, Knockout’s engine gave away his arrival, and Wildbreak’s spark soared.

“Knockout! You showed up!”

With a transformation and a smirk, Knockout remarked, “I never miss an opportunity to be adored.”

Wildbreak’s optics went wide and heat spread up his neck and across his face, embarrassed and flustered. Knockout laughed, not cruelly but just amused, but it faltered a bit as his optics lingered on Wildbreak’s expression. And that look from before – almost like recognition and tainted by sorrow – took over, lingering this time as he ended his now forced chuckle with a cough. Knockout glanced away as he moved to flop down on the grass beside Wildbreak.

It was the first time Wildbreak had seen Knockout without total confidence and it nearly felt as if it had set his spark aflame with affection.

A wide grin split Wildbreak’s face despite his embarrassment, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he said, “Whatever brings you back works for me.”

Knockout snorted, teased him about being desperate.

But he didn’t seem to really mind.

And when Wildbreak asked him to talk about himself this time – “I don’t got much else to tell you about me anymore” – Knockout agreed.

Knockout told him that he had been a Decepticon up until the very last second when the chance presented itself and he jumped from the metaphorically sinking ship. He talked about how he had made his bed based on who the winning team would be, and maybe he had guessed that wrong, but the Autobots were a much more forgiving lot than Decepticons. The Autobots were usually open to picking up defectors—

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Wildbreak grumbled. “Backup plans and all that.”

“Just making sure to pass on my knowledge to the youth of today,” Knockout insisted with a sly look.

“It’s not like I was just forged yesterday.”

“ _Please_. You’re so young that you’ve only ever known the Decepticons as synonymous with common criminals.”

“You’re not gonna start in on a ‘in my day’ lecture, are you?”

That brought Knockout up short, his frame going stock still before he sneered.

“I’m not old.”

Wildbreak couldn’t help giggling as he teased, “Aw gee, course you’re not. You only got what, a couple hundred years on me? Couple thousand?”

Knockout shoved him, but it was softer than what Wildbreak was used to, didn’t hurt in the least.

“Who told you you could talk back?” Knockout complained, and that did hurt. Wildbreak stiffened and looked down at his servos, twisting them together.

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

It was quiet for a moment before Knockout said, “What? Why are you apologizing?”

“For talking back?”

Wildbreak flinched when digits tucked under his chin, but Knockout was gentle as he turned Wildbreak’s helm back towards him.

Knockout stared at him sternly.

“You’re always allowed to talk back.”

Wildbreak’s optics grew wide as his processor reeled.

“B-but you said–”

“I was joking,” Knockout said, bending down when Wildbreak tried to look down, refusing to let him look away. “But obviously it was a joke in poor taste. You don’t normally get to talk back, do you?”

Concerned crimson optics seemed to take up all of Wildbreak’s attention as his tanks felt as if they were being crushed. His vocalizer failed him, so Wildbreak just shook his helm.

Knockout frowned.

“Not too late to jump ship.”

“They’re not that bad, though. I mean, they’re my  _team_ —”

“—And if Cons are anything like what they used to be, they’ll cut down a sweet thing like you without a second thought if it benefits them.”

Wildbreak felt sick because he wanted to defend the team, or at least Dragstrip, but he couldn’t. Not when he knew deep down it was possible. Not when he could still remember how it felt to be crushed by the gravity weapon that Dragstrip had demonstrated on him without any guilt. And not when his spark ached with phantom pain that Wildbreak couldn’t actually remember ever receiving.

And not when Knockout looked at him with old pain etched into the lines of his face.

“I’ll already told you I’d think about it,” Wildbreak finally managed, “and I am. Really.”

Knockout was quiet a moment longer before, with a sigh, he removed his servo and leaned back. “Fine. But this time you’re leaving with my comm link too in case you need it.”

Wildbreak nodded and, after a moment, flopped onto his back. The stars twinkled and Wildbreak wondered if Cybertron was out in that direction. A home that had never felt much like home, never felt welcoming, never felt quite right. It had been easy to just join a group that he thought wanted him and hope it would be better than the loneliness.

Oddly, Earth had felt familiar in ways that Cybertron didn’t.

And now, even with his tanks roiling, being here next to Knockout felt like home .

“So, uh. You think I’m sweet?”

Knockout’s ventilation came out choked before a soft smile curled his lips.

“I suppose I do,” Knockout admitted, leaning back on his palms and giving Wildbreak a sideways look. “Who knew I’d find pleasant company on this dirt ball?”

Wildbreak couldn’t help grinning at that. “What about your Autobot friends?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Bumblebee can be fine company. But he has some of the most obnoxious brats racing around and I think they’re rubbing off on him in the worst way. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he lives in some human’s scrap yard!” Knockout sighed dramatically as he clucked his glossa disapprovingly. “I barely lasted a few hours there before I had to leave and immediately wash off.”

“Then why’re you here?” Wildbreak asked curiously.

Knockout hummed contemplatively as he tilted his helm back, gazing up at the stars, the moonlight reflecting off his perfect finish and highlighting the angles of his handsome face. It was easy to get lost in staring at Knockout. “Visiting an old friend,” Knockout said softly, the casualness of his tone belying the sad curl to his lips.

But it was there and gone as he turned his helm back to Wildbreak, adding, “And besides, while I can’t say I care for their company, humans are masters of crafting a gorgeous automobile. I mean look at me! You just can’t find alt-modes like this on Cybertron.”

Wildbreak sat up, grinning as he said, “Right? They look so pretty! I’ve thought about scanning something, but I don’t know what would look good on me, and nobody else on the team wanted a new scan, so it felt weird to ask, you know?”

Knockout’s optics flashed bright as a wide smirk split his face.

“Do you want to find one tonight?”

Wildbreak’s spark thundered eagerly in his chest.

“Uh, I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh Wildbreak, darling,” Knockout purred as he swiftly and gracefully got to his pedes, “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I don’t mind at all. Now come on, up you get. We’ve got ourselves a trip into the city to make.”

Wildbreak stumbled a bit as he stood up, wide-opticked as he replied, “The city?”

“Of course. Ferrari is having a show there this week, so what better chance to slip in and find something that suits you,” Knockout insisted as he started walking towards the road.

“But how would we get in?”

“Come now. Don’t tell me you haven’t done a little breaking and entering before?” Knockout teased. That only had Wildbreak slack-jawed as he jogged to catch up.

“B-but you’re an Autobot! Aren’t you supposed to follow the rules?”

Knockout laughed as he finally hit asphalt and shifted into his alt-mode.

“Who said I was good at being an Autobot? Now hurry it up, we don’t have all night!”

Stunned, Wildbreak just nodded and transformed to follow Knockout. But after a few minutes of processing it all, Wildbreak felt excitement bubble up in his chassis. The sound clip of Knockout calling him darling played on repeat in the back of his processor.

“Hey, who’s Ferrari anyway?”

“I have so much to teach you, Wildbreak.”

* * *

Wildbreak couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much fun.

Breaking in had been shockingly easy, so much so that Wildbreak suspected it hadn’t been the first time that Knockout had trespassed into this particular building to check out cars. And they were in luck that the building had to have passageways large enough for cars to drive onto the main floor, so it wasn’t hard for them to get into the large room with ceilings high enough for them to stand.

And Knockout had been right. The cars were gorgeous.

They admired and discussed the cars, and now and again Knockout would pause, considering the car and then Wildbreak, before telling him to try scanning it. Some of them translated well to Wildbreak’s root mode, and some of them just left Knockout bent over snickering.

“Oh no, no no, absolutely not. Drop that scan immediately.”

Which meant that Wildbreak would pose and strut in the worst of the choices, enjoying the way that Knockout was torn between laughing and hissing over how awful they were.

Finally though, Knockout clapped his servos together and insisted, “There it is. I think we’ve found it. Go on, try it on!”

It was, in many ways, similar to Wildbreak’s cybertronian alt-mode. But it was sleeker, beautiful lines instead of aggressive angles. The little mirrors had to go, but otherwise it was gorgeous, and transforming into his root form showed that it translated well. Similar to what he had but nicer looking, both aesthetically and emotionally. It felt like a better fit.

“Almost,” Knockout said contemplatively as he circled him. Wildbreak squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. “Is the blue your natural paintjob?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Then switch to that.”

With a flicker, Wildbreak’s plating dropped the white and red from the disguise to reveal his forged coloring with its dark blue and orange and grey.

Knockout grinned.

“Oh yes, that’s it.”

“You sure? I mean, it’s kinda dark, and the color combination is kinda weird–”

“I would never lie when it comes to looks,” Knockout interrupted as he stepped closer. Wildbreak nearly startled when Knockout’s servo grasped him by the wrist, optics trailing along the expanse of his arm. With unexpected fondness, Knockout said, “I always did love the contrast of blue and orange.”

Wildbreak’s face heated and his spark went wild.

And even Knockout seemed to react to his own admission, stiffening and dropping Wildbreak’s wrist as he stepped back.

“Well, anyway. Do  _you_  like it?”

Wildbreak looked down at his own frame again, twisting it this way and that to see as much as he could, before shrugging. “It looks good from what I can see. And if you think it looks good, I believe it.”

“You’re awfully trusting,” Knockout commented.

“I guess,” Wildbreak admitted, “but I mean, you’re easy to trust.”

Knockout blinked at him before throwing his helm back and laughing, managing between wheezes to ask if that was a joke because no one would ever say that about him.

But Wildbreak meant it.

From the very bottom of his spark, he meant it.

But Knockout still snickered as he ushered Wildbreak out of the building, insisting that they get a move on before anyone showed up.

* * *

The ride back was full of Knockout’s stories, since the moment he said that he had been Megatron’s medic at the end of the war – that he had been part of the team that battled Team Prime – Wildbreak was out of his processor with excitement.

Better yet, Knockout did impressions of the upper ranks.

They were hilarious when they were just spoken, but once the two of them had reached the fork in the road where Wildbreak was supposed to turn to go back to his team, Knockout was able to contort his face and frame too. Wildbreak was non-stop giggles when Knockout stomped around as Megatron, servos behind his back and constant sneer on his face as he waxed poetic about every little thing before howling in faux rage. And while every Decepticon from the war that Wildbreak had met had a Starscream impression, nothing could touch Knockout’s. He  _pranced_  and he  _preened_  as he waved his servos around, wiggling the tires on his back as if they were wings, and Wildbreak could feel optic cleanser welling up from how hard he laughed.

It nearly hid the fact that while there was no way that Wildbreak would have ever heard these stories before, most of them sounded oddly familiar.

“—So needless to say, my assistant and I didn’t pay Starscream a lick of attention and still went to the race–”

Other than the vehicons, Knockout’s assistant was the only figure in the stories who wasn’t named. Knockout didn’t do any impressions of him. Wildbreak would almost think Knockout thought as little about the mech as he did of the vehicons were it not for the fact that the assistant featured in nearly  _all_ his stories. A constant companion.

Wildbreak’s spark pulsed hard with every mention of him.

“Is he your friend you’re visiting?”

Knockout stopped suddenly, mouth still open as if he was ready for the next part of the story, but it didn’t come out.

Instead he asked, “What?”

“The assistant,” Wildbreak said, shifting his weight on his pedes. “Cause, I mean, it doesn’t sound like you were really friends with the rest of ‘em. But you mention him a lot.”

Knockout’s mouth closed and his expression softened from the amusement of before. Wildbreak already regretted the question, verbally stumbling over himself as he said, “I mean, you don’t gotta tell me, just forget I even asked.”

“No, it’s fine,” Knockout finally managed. His servos drifted down to his sides, lightly propped on his hips. The huff that was nearly a laugh was humorless. “I just thought I was more subtle than that. Guess not.” Another ventilation cycled through Knockout before he said, “You got it in one.”

Wildbreak’s spark raced.

“What’s his name?”

“Breakdown,” Knockout said as his lips curled into a soft, sad smile.

Wildbreak’s spark  _thundered_.

Wildbreak swallowed as he fought to keep the pain from showing on his face. He had learned to be good at that over the years and hoped it would fool Knockout.

“Huh. Weird.”

“What’s weird about that?” Knockout asked, optics finding focus again on Wildbreak’s face.

“Nothin’,” Wildbreak replied, shifting his weight again. “Just got déjà vu or something. Maybe I met him before?”

Knockout’s smirk was joyless.

“Only place the two of you could have crossed paths was in the Allspark.”

Wildbreak’s spark  _thrashed_.

“Oh. Well uh, then I guess it’s just ‘cause I have ‘break’ in my name then, or something,” Wildbreak reasoned, his optics now glued to the ground. “Sorry about your friend. Sounds like he was a great guy.”

“He was.”

_REACH OUT. TOUCH HIM._

“You miss him?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

_HOLD HIM. MISS HIM._

“He probably misses you too.”

The ground crunched under Knockout’s pede, one step towards Wildbreak before stopping. Wildbreak didn’t dare look up at Knockout, afraid he’d see right through him, would see the confusing turmoil between his spark’s demands and his processor’s bewilderment.

“A-anyway, I should probably get going before anyone notices I’m gone,” Wildbreak stammered as he took a step back. “But I really wanna see you again. I promise I won’t make it awkward again or anything.”

After a moment of silence, a genuinely amused ex-vent escaped Knockout and a short-wave message hit Wildbreak’s comm. It was a commlink.

“It takes more than a little bit of awkwardness to scare me off.”

* * *

When Wildbreak got to the old buildings his team called their base, he shifted back to his cybertronian form, already missing Knockout’s gift but knowing he couldn’t let the others see it. He’d have to save his earth form for the few occasions he was alone or with Knockout.

Then, as quietly as he could, Wildbreak snuck towards his usual slab and curled up with his back against the wall.

Recharge was slow to take him though because there was nothing that could quiet his processor or his spark.

Breakdown.

The name kept popping up in his processor again and again, sometimes an inquiry, sometimes a statement, but never anything that Wildbreak understood.

Wildbreak couldn’t figure out if Knockout was helping with the hole in his spark or making it that much worse.

But either way, Wildbreak knew he would see him again.

Wildbreak had to see Knockout again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, thank you all so much for your responses to chapter 1! This is a fic I didn't imagine would be particularly popular so it was so exciting to see so many of you guys responding positively to it. <3


	3. Chapter 3

“About time you woke up.”

Bumblebee’s frame jolted online as he sat up, staring wide-opticked up at where Knockout was leaned against a shelf of scrap metal and watching him.

“Knockout?! What’re you–?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Knockout stated.

“And it couldn’t wait?” Bumblebee grumbled as he moved to stand. He was going to have to have a talk with his team about warning him when they had company.

Knockout gave him an unimpressed look.

“You want help with your Stunticon problem, don’t you?”

Bumblebee’s arms stilled where he had stretched them over his helm, blinking at Knockout. “You decided to join the team after all?”

“Of course not. I told you, I’m not much of a team player these days when I can help it,” Knockout replied.

“Then…?”

“I’ve been spending some time with one of them.”

“You—wait, you’ve been doing what?!” Panicked, Bumblebee continued, “You’re not gonna join  _them,_ are you?”

With a snort, Knockout shook his head. “As much as I don’t want you ordering me around, the idea of Motormaster trying it is even worse. He’s a brute and a moron who only knows how to motivate with his fists. It’s no coincidence he had to remake his team by snatching up a bunch of new forged.”

That was all news to Bumblebee. He didn’t know about any Motormaster, let alone– “How new?”

“Post-war.”

Bumblebee winced.

But before he could comment, Knockout pushed off his perch and stalked towards him. “And that’s why, when I finally convince this kid to leave the Stunticons, you’re going to pardon him and accept him into the Autobot fold without any problems.”

Bumblebee sighed as he braced his servos on his hips.

“They’re criminals, Knockout. I can’t just waive that.”

“You did for that dinobot,” Knockout argued. He was nearly chest-to-chest with Bumblebee now, unwilling to give an inch.

“Grimlock is a special case. He proved himself to be trustworthy.”

“No. Grimlock is special because you like him.”

“He’s a good mech–”

“—And so is Wildbreak.”

With a huff, Bumblebee stepped back and paced away, and of course he heard Knockout’s pedesteps following behind. “Knockout–”

“You want to put an end to the Stunticons, don’t you?”

That brought Bumblebee up short. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, and Knockout lips barely curled enough to be called a smirk, but it was there. “If you really want to ruin their plans, I can’t think of a better way than getting one of them to defect and thus depriving them of two combiner forms.”

“Two? Can he combine with one of the other ones too?”

The smirk grew.

“I can’t believe the Autobots are still so behind when it comes to understanding combiners,” Knockout said, strolling closer, looking every part like the Con he once was. “You don’t honestly think that if your lot could fuse together by sheer accident that a team led by Motormaster, a mech who has been combining for millennia, would be limited to just combining in pairs, do you?” Genuine fear started to spark in Bumblebee’s processor as realization of what Knockout was suggesting settled.

“All of them?”

“Menasor was never as successful a combiner as Devastator, no doubt because Motormaster was never as good a leader as Scrapper, but you still wouldn’t want to meet him on a battlefield,” Knockout continued, examining his claws lazily, as if he wasn’t discussing the former army’s deadliest soldiers and weapons. “Motormaster has only had this team for a little over a decade, so I can’t imagine they’re as good as his previous teams, but that’s more than enough time for them to learn to form Menasor and control him. Certainly enough time to cause your team some serious problems.”

Bumblebee’s engine growled in his chest as he snapped, “Why the frag didn’t you tell me any of that before?!”

Knockout shrugged, looking victorious already. “You didn’t ask.”

“I asked for your help!”

“No. You ordered for it,” Knockout replied snidely. “If you wanted my advice, as one mech to another, you could have asked for it. Instead you got prissy because I didn’t want to play house with you and your little band of misfits.”

Bumblebee’s engine sputtered with indignation and some guilt.

“Fine,” Bumblebee finally agreed, unable to completely rid his voice of irritation. “I’ll figure something out if Wildbreak leaves the Stunticons.”

“Thank you.” It was more a declaration of victory than gratitude.

“Now uh, you have anything else you could tell me about the Stunticons?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve revealed all my cards,” Knockout admitted with a shrug, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But I’ll let you know if I learn anything juicy.”

With that, Knockout was gone again with barely a wave for the handful of team members even online this time of morning.

It wasn’t until later when Bumblebee had Fixit pull up any information he could find on Motormaster and Menasor, criminal or historical, that he finally got the answer to why Knockout had gotten himself so invested. For all that Bumblebee had known Knockout after the war, he had always looked to stay distanced from others, charming but not caring to get involved past pleasantries, never staying in one place for long. But this sparkling of a criminal had caught his full attention in ways no other mech had for over a decade.

The research also explained the almost personal distaste he had for Motormaster and the Stunticons as a team.

There was list of former Stunticon members from early in the war, before even Bumblebee had been forged, and standing out like a glaring neon sign was the name Breakdown.

* * *

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Dragstrip stared at him before asking, “What?”

“You know, like, where a spark that joins the Allspark comes back out to be forged again–”

“I know what it is. What I’m trying to figure out is why you’re even asking such a pointless question,” Dragstrip mocked. However, he still handed Wildbreak a cube of energon before sitting down to drink his own.

“I dunno. Just been thinking about it.” Because admitting that he was being plagued by thoughts of a mech he shouldn’t know would make Wildbreak sound insane. He wasn’t completely sure that he wasn’t. “Like, would he be the same, or would he be a different mech the second time around? Would he remember anything?”

Dragstrip stared at him out the corner of his optic as he took a long drink.

“When’d you decide to become some sorta religious type?”

Wildbreak just shrugged, muttering, “Doesn’t matter,” and busied himself with his drink.

“This ‘bout your spark thing? You think it’s ‘cause you’re a reincarnation or something?”

“Yeah. But that sounds pretty glitched, don’t it?”

“Eh, who knows how all that Allspark business works,” Dragstrip said with a lazy wave of his servo. “Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Would it make a difference to ya if you were?”

Knockout’s sad smile as he said Breakdown’s name flashed unbidden in Wildbreak’s processor.

“Depends on who I was.”

Dragstrip hummed noncommittally before finishing off his cube with a satisfied ex-vent.

“Ah well, no way of figuring that out anyway, so don’t worry that tiny little processor of yours over it, buddy ol’ pal,” Dragstrip said as he pushed up to his feet and chucked the cube carelessly. “We got more important stuff to focus on today. We got a big race to win for the Boss!”

“A race?” Wildbreak asked.

“Yeah! With that title, we’ll really be the rulers of the roads!”

Wildbreak’s sparkpulse barely quickened at all at the idea, but he forced a grin onto his face and followed after Dragstrip.

* * *

The third time they talked, it was over commlinks. It had only been the one day – Wildbreak hadn’t even had a chance to recharge yet beyond the couple hours that morning – but already he missed Knockout something fierce.

::Tomorrow?::

::Yeah,:: Wildbreak said, aware of how hopeful his tone was. ::I’d like to see ya.::

::Unfortunately I’m leaving town tonight. I shouldn’t be gone more than a day or two though.::

Wildbreak’s spark sank.

::Oh. Ok. Well uh, let me know when you get back then?::

There was a pause, and Wildbreak worried that he had sounded too needy, that Knockout wouldn’t be interested anymore because he was so pathetic—

::You could come with if you wanted.::

Wildbreak’s spark was caught between joy and the reality that was his frame. Losing the race had made Motormaster mad and he had taken it out on them all, leaving them battered and just this side of broken. Wildbreak’s lines had only just finished closing up, so he wasn’t leaking energon anymore, but it would take a couple hours at least to work out the dents. Even then though, Wildbreak knew he needed a long, deep recharge to let his frame heal enough that his injuries wouldn’t be obvious.

Normally, after one of Motormaster’s beatings, Wildbreak would curl up and spend a couple days healing until someone finally dragged him out.

But now, Wildbreak wanted desperately to be up and running as soon as he could.

::I really wish I could, but I can’t do nothing tonight.::

::You can’t honestly tell me that little race was enough to tire you out,:: Knockout teased. Heat bloomed in Wildbreak’s frame with embarrassment.

::You saw that, huh?::

::No need to be embarrassed. We’ve all had Autobots ruin a race or two,:: Knockout said easily.

::Yeah? Tell me about yours?::

::I’m sure you can wait a couple days.::

Wildbreak curled up tighter, arms around his knees and back against a boulder, staring out across the terrain as the sun dipped closer to the horizon.

::Wildbreak?::

::Could you tell me about it now? I—I just really wanna hear you talk. If that isn’t weird. That’s weird, isn’t it?::

There was a moment of silence before Knockout asked, utterly serious, ::Is something wrong?::

::I’m fine,:: Wildbreak answered automatically.

::That’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one.:: And now Knockout sounded concerned.

::Uh, then, I’ll be fine, so it’s ok.::

::Wildbreak.::

Wildbreak squirmed, imaging the look that Knockout would give him.

::Motormaster got mad about the race and, well, you know.::

There was a tired ex-vent that carried across the line before Knockout replied knowingly, ::I do.:: The thought that Knockout had ever been punished when he was a Decepticon hadn’t ever crossed Wildbreak’s processor, but it was there now and it sparked something furious in his lines. He didn’t have time to do anything with that outrage though before Knockout said, ::I can wait until tomorrow morning if you still want to come with me. It won’t be fun, exactly, but I wouldn’t mind the company.::

Wildbreak blinked as he realized what Knockout was offering.

For the first time that day, a genuine grin split Wildbreak’s face.

::Yeah, that would be great! Where’re we going?::

::To visit my old friend.::

* * *

“Ey, Wildbreak!” Dragstrip called, and Wildbreak went stiff as a board as his partner continued, “Get over here!”

Wildbreak could also see the sudden fear in Dragstrip’s optics when Motormaster’s engine hummed loud enough to carry as their boss stepped closer to Wildbreak, making himself visible to the other mech.

“Oh, uh, sorry boss, didn’t see you there. I’ll come back later–”

“We’re almost done here,” Motormaster interrupted, deep rumbling voice sounding oddly pleased and all the more terrifying for it. It was rare that a smile on his face meant anything good. “Wildbreak was just telling me his ideas for the next couple days.”

A sinking feeling gripped Wildbreak as Dragstrip stared in confusion.

“Ideas?”

Wildbreak broke their optic contact and stared at the ground as Motormaster continued, “Yes. He’s going to drive out further than we’ve gone before, expanding our territory and proving who those roads belong to now.” His large servo landed on Wildbreak’s shoulder in what should have been a show of pride and affection, but Motormaster’s optics were trained on Dragstrip, mocking him. “If even Wildbreak can show some initiative for once to make up for his failure, then I don’t see what’s keeping the rest of you from doing the same.”

Nothing could have pulled Wildbreak’s stare from the ground, spark pounding because he knew the hateful look that Dragstrip must have been wearing, that all the Stunticons soon would. He had seen it time and again when Motormaster turned them against each other to motivate through spite. But Wildbreak had never been the cause of that; had never been used to shame the other Stunticons.

Wildbreak had never shown initiative before and his teammates were going to hate him for it.

But he did his best to focus on the fact that as soon as this was done, Wildbreak could grab some cubes of energon and escape into Knockout’s company for a while. It would be worth it.

* * *

Even knowing the vaguely macabre purpose of the roadtrip, there was nothing that could have kept Wildbreak’s excitement from bubbling over. He got to use his Earth alt-mode and spend hours upon hours driving with Knockout, listening to more of his stories and talking about Earth and Cybertron and politics with him. Knockout was far more knowledgeable about it all, but he wasn’t unkind about it, which in Wildbreak’s opinion was exceedingly kind. He would simply explain what Wildbreak didn’t understand and they would continue with their conversation.

And, despite his designation as an Autobot, Knockout was frank about the war and the aftermath and where the Autobots were succeeding and where they were failing. The more Wildbreak got to know him, the better he understood why Knockout left the Decepticons after spending millennia with them.

Wildbreak wasn’t sure it could really be considered a betrayal when Knockout hadn’t been particularly loyal to start with.

Knockout was a mech who looked out for himself first and foremost. For all his dramatics and charm, he was pragmatic, and Wildbreak might have thought him ultimately detached and cold if he wasn’t so drawn to him.

Not the mention the fact that Knockout had also looked out for at least one other mech.

As the sun started to sink low in the sky, Knockout mentioned Breakdown again. Maybe it was because they were growing ever closer to their destination, or maybe, as Wildbreak hoped, Knockout simply felt more comfortable opening up to him.

Knockout talked about how they had met.

Breakdown had been recovering from an upgrade which had left him larger and stronger, a little loopy as his processor was slowly booting up and accepting the changed frame. When Knockout had walked in as his assigned medic and introduced himself, saying “I’m Knockout,” Breakdown had given him a dopey smile and replied, “Yeah you are.”

It had been far from the first time that Knockout had heard the line, but there was an awe to it that had made Knockout laugh. It had been a good decade since he had last had a genuine laugh.

Knockout talked about how Breakdown would come back time and again, his frame broken and bleeding, but always so honest when he asked how Knockout had been. Once, his entire arm had been crushed into a mangle of twisted metal, limp and immobile and no doubt severely painful, and Breakdown had asked Knockout if he was getting enough recharge. “Your optics just seem dimmer than usual,” Knockout recounted Breakdown saying, not bothering with a funny voice or imitation like the other Cons in his stories received. There had been nothing but affection in Knockout’s tone.

Knockout talked about being reassigned to work in the field. How he had insisted he would need an assistant that could double as a bodyguard. And when he had managed to convince them, he demanded it be Breakdown.

Knockout talked about their resulting partnership.

For a brief moment, as Knockout was halfway through some exciting story about an adventure they had had on a planet Wildbreak had never even heard of, he wondered if he should be jealous.

But he wasn’t.

Not completely.

Wildbreak wasn’t jealous of the relationship that Breakdown had gotten to have with Knockout. It was sweet, and it warmed Wildbreak’s spark in a way that made his processor whirr with confusion, because it was that familiarity again, recognizing what he couldn’t possibly recognize. If anything, it just made Wildbreak feel as if he was truly going mad. Was he really a reincarnation of some big bruiser of a Decepticon soldier, or was he just so desperate for Knockout’s affection that he was fooling himself with wild ideas that those feelings and stories could somehow be about him?

The sun set and Knockout said they had a couple more hours before they would arrive.

And Wildbreak thought to himself that if he was jealous of anything, it was that he wanted to be rescued by Knockout too.

* * *

“Any updates, Fixit?”

“A couple, sir,” the minibot replied as he continued to tap away, bringing up a screen for Bumblebee. “I’ve managed to get all the information on Motormaster that’s on record. It’s like Knockout said – he led the Stunticon combiner team during the war, but rarely to any great success compared to the more infamous Constructicon team. It seems to be due to a lack of proper leadership kills – spills – skills!”

Bumblebee scanned the profile as he prompted, “How so?”

“Well, while it isn’t ever spelled out so obviously, the simple fact is that the Stunticon team had a shockingly high turnover rate. Some were deaths of course, but others seemed to find ways to quit the team, which is unprecedented in other Decepticon teams of the time.”

Near the end of the profile was a list of Stunticon members, and indeed there were more than a dozen names, many with (DECEASED) or (TRANSFERRED) by them.

It still seemed like some weird twist of fate to see Breakdown’s name among them.

“The Stunticon team was apprehended at the end of the war, but Motormaster managed to escape and has been on the run since, so Knockout is correct that the team he has now has likely only worked together since then.”

“Well, that’s good to know, at least,” Bumblebee said as he crossed his arms. He’d have to go through the whole profile a couple times to see if there was anything else helpful to be found there. “And did you find anything out about Breakdown?”

Fixit gave him the same bemused look he had when Bumblebee had first asked him, clearly not sure why he was interested in a former member. But still, his digits tapped away, but only to zoom in on where Breakdown was listed on Motormaster’s profile.

“Unfortunately sir, there isn’t much to be found. While he is listed in the Decepticon registry, he’s labeled as deceased, so like most Decepticons who died in the war, there hasn’t been any effort put into searching the former army’s archives for his files to transfer to the Autobot systems. The only information I have is what’s listed here.”

Which wasn’t much. Just a designation, a frame type (small four-wheeler, which had to be a mistake considering what Bumblebee remembered of the big brute), and (TRANSFERRED).

Still, it was a confirmation of Knockout’s connection to the Stunticons, as tenuous and outdated as it was.

“Don’t worry about it, Fixit. I was just curious. Tell me more about Motormaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this chapter the "hello here's how I filled the gaps in canon about Breakdown and the Stunticons based on the shows and the wiki pages" chapter lmao. If you have any questions on this headcanon or how I got here, feel free to asked either here or at my tumblr (roseymoseyberry).
> 
> And again, guys, thanks so much for reading and commenting. I seriously never expected anyone to read this so I super duper appreciate it. ;o;


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rare before chapter note to say: Please be aware of the rating change/added tag. I hadn't expected the story to go this way but it has, so just be aware.

Wildbreak wasn’t really sure what he expected at the end of the journey.

It was dark out, and made all the darker as they stood under the heavy boughs of the forest, but their combined headlights made it easy enough to make their way through the foliage. It took nearly an hour of stomping around before Knockout slowed and Wildbreak asked, “Why’re we stopping?”

Knockout gestured in front of him.

“We’re here.”

It was just a small grassy clearing. Large enough to allow a couple cybertronians at most to walk around, but still small enough that there was only the slightest spacing between leaves that allowed moonlight to fall on the center of the space. Truthfully, it looked like any other clearing in any other forest. Wildbreak wouldn’t have been able to differentiate it from anywhere else in the woods they had trekked through.

However, his spark fluttered sickly.

“At least, this is most likely the place,” Knockout continued as he took slow steps out into the clearing. “Dreadwing was polite enough to give me the coordinates, and while Breakdown’s frame was already long gone by the time I came to check, there had been enough evidence to suggest this is where it happened.”

Wildbreak stayed on the periphery, his joints locking up with an odd dread.

It was shockingly easy to imagine the spilled energon across the ground that Knockout now stood on.

“Autobots?” Wildbreak asked as carefully as he could.

Knockout’s back was to him.

“Decepticon,” Knockout corrected, his tone almost indifferent sounding. “Instead of simply doing the job himself, Megatron sent Dreadwing and Breakdown to offline her, coming up with some fake cover story. She realized, of course. Not everyone is as oblivious as that egomaniac.”

Wildbreak felt his spark twist. It occurred to him that he could ask about it, about who ‘she’ was, all the circumstances that led up to it, but the very idea only made him feel more ill. Wildbreak desperately didn’t want to know.

He didn’t want to have this horrid tale sound familiar.

“I’m sorry.”

Knockout didn’t respond right away. Instead he gracefully knelt to the ground, his digits gentle as they brushed along the fragile grass of the forest floor. A moment went by, and then another.

Wildbreak was about to ask if Knockout wanted some time alone, to have his space while he mourned Breakdown, when finally Knockout spoke.

“It’s my fault, you know.”

“What?” Wildbreak blurted, his ridges furrowing with confusion. “But you weren’t even here, right?”

“No, but I’m the reason he was here in the first place,” Knockout insisted. The cold detachment of his voice was starting to get to Wildbreak. His vents huffed. “But you don’t want to hear about that. Just go back to the road and I’ll find you in the morning.”

Wildbreak’s spark quickened its pulsing as he took one step into the clearing.

“Do you want to be alone?” Knockout didn’t respond to that, so after a moment Wildbreak gathered his courage and said, “Th-then I’ll stay. And you can talk, if you want to. Or not. I don’t mind either way.”

A small bunch of grass was plucked, ripped away from the ground strand by strand.

“It’s not a happy story.”

Wildbreak’s chest grew tight with knowledge his spark couldn’t share with him.

“I kinda figured that much out.”

After a long moment, Knockout dropped the grass in a pile.

“I had done so well to keep him from becoming cannon fodder. Once I had him as my assistant, I could keep him from the worst battlefields and out of the general command line of unfeeling generals. Sure, it became harder once we arrived here and had high command ordering us around directly, but I was so sure we could make it. The war had to be almost over. I saw the finish line and ignored all the signs.”

“Signs?”

“Megatron didn’t care about Breakdown,” Knockout stated, and while his tone was still cold, there was a fury beneath it making itself known.

Wildbreak’s spark clenched painfully. “But he was a part of the team here on Earth, so Megatron had to care at least a little, didn’t he?”

Knockout snorted dismissively and bitterly.

“When Breakdown got captured by some filthy humans, Megatron did  _nothing_  about it. Starscream of all mecha was the one who finally went to get him, and he had to do it behind Megatron’s back, lest he anger our leader by saving his own soldier. And by the time he did, the Autobots had already gotten there and done the job for him. The Autobots rescued him before his own faction bothered to!”

Clawed digits dipped into the dirt, dragging shallow gouges into the patches of green.

“And the worst part was that Breakdown wouldn’t let himself be angry. He wouldn’t even let me replace his optic, insisting it was a reminder of his failure, as if it was all his fault and he deserved what happened. As if somehow through apologies he could convince Megatron to care!”

Knockout’s frame shook as his voice grew.  

“And I let him. I knew that Megatron didn’t and wouldn’t ever care, but I let him keep that despicable patch and we stayed with that despicable mech because I was so sure we were on the winning team, and Breakdown paid the price for it!”

He grew silent then, for just a moment, crouched and trembling with emotions that Wildbreak couldn’t name from where he stood. Wildbreak was caught between wanting to say something and dreading that saying anything at all would cause Knockout to realize what he was admitting and clam up. Knockout was always so swift to change topics when his own emotions slipped through.

When Knockout finally spoke, it wasn’t as cold as before, couldn’t detach itself from emotion, but it was softer again.

“And then that horrid human took his frame from me. Took it and corrupted it to house his weak fleshy body, and he walked right into the Nemesis like he deserved a place with us, and Megatron let him. He let that – that  _abomination_  in Breakdown’s offlined frame try to earn his way into the Decepticons.”

Wildbreak’s optics went wide, shocked when his spark didn’t pulse with familiarity in response. For the first time that night, it didn’t know what Knockout was talking about at all, though his spark still twisted tight enough to make him nauseous at the thought.

“And I still stayed. After it all, I still stayed.”

Wildbreak wasn’t sure when he had started moving, but soon enough he was kneeling in front of Knockout. The mech was so hunched over that Wildbreak couldn’t make out his face in the shadows, but there were drops of cleanser dripping to the ground and Knockout’s vents hitched with every ventilation. His servos were caked with dirt where he was crushing the ground beneath them.

“I made that abomination scream for weeks,” Knockout confessed, sounding bitter and ashamed. “I called what I was doing experimentation, but it was torture and we all knew it.”

“I mean, that’s not that weird,” Wildbreak tried to reason. Wildbreak wasn’t good at comforting, had so rarely been shown that sort of affection and his team would have never accepted it, thinking it made them look weak. So he just followed the prompting of his spark and placed his servo on top of Knockout’s where it was piercing the ground. “You had to get it out of you, and it’s not like you coulda done it to Megatron or something.”

A wretched chuckle escaped Knockout.

“Spoken like a true Decepticon.”

Wildbreak didn’t understand – he had seen time and again that mecha lashed out at weaker ones when they couldn’t fight the cause of their frustration. His teammates certainly always did. That was normal, wasn’t it?

Were – were Autobots not like that?

Knockout’s digits finally unearthed themselves and Wildbreak further wrapped his servo around Knockout’s, squeezing it. He wasn’t sure if it was for Knockout or himself anymore.

“It still doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”

That surprised Knockout enough that he looked up, and Wildbreak’s spark ached at the thick lines of cleanser streaking down his face and how his features were tight and twisted with grief and hatred.

“Breakdown died because I didn’t want to defect. How is that not my fault?!” Knockout hissed.

“I mean, you can’t control everything,” Wildbreak said, aware that his voice was strained around the tightness of his intake. “Maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to. Or even if you convinced him and had defected, you can’t know for sure something bad wouldn’t have still happened, right? He coulda died anyway.”

“But if I had just–!”

“You don’t know that!” Wildbreak insisted, his hold on Knockout’s servo tightening. “And thinking ‘bout it isn’t gonna change nothing.”

“But—!”

“Breakdown wouldn’t’ve wanted you to blame yourself.” Wildbreak had meant it to come out as a question, to end it with ‘would he?’, but his spark roared that it was a fact.

Knockout looked stricken. His optics were wide and his jaw was slack and his cheeks were still wet with tears. Then, slowly, his face crumpled.

When Knockout’s free servo reached up to grasp Wildbreak’s arm as he ducked his helm, frame rattling with a sob, Wildbreak let himself be pulled forward. Knockout’s tears felt as if they were burning against his neck.

Wildbreak held him tight and let him cry.

* * *

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“It’s ok,” Wildbreak said, shuffling closer when Knockout tried to pull away. He had long lost track of time, not sure when they had arrived so he had no beginning marker, but it had been a while. The heavy wailing had tapered off soon enough, but it was the lingering hiccups and relapses that took time for Knockout to work through. And even once it was finally over, Knockout had kept himself curled against Wildbreak, helm ducked, until his ventilations had finally slowed to normal.

Now, after it all, Knockout lifted his chin, and it was only because Wildbreak was looking for them that he noticed the dried residue on his cheeks.

Wildbreak’s digits itched to rub the lines away.

“Are you ok now?”

“Was I ever?” Knockout asked sarcastically, the smirk that came with it weak. He shifted, accepting the closeness that Wildbreak was trying to maintain by simply settling onto his hip instead of his knees, his frame still leaning against Wildbreak but now against his side. Knockout’s helm flopped against Wildbreak’s shoulder. “But yes, I am better now. Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, it’s no problem,” Wildbreak said, unsure what else he could possibly say. The physical closeness he could at least handle, keeping his servo on Knockout’s shoulder, doing his best to comfort. Wildbreak was still uncomfortable being in the clearing in a way he couldn’t describe, but it was obvious that Knockout needed to stay a while longer, and Wildbreak could live with the discomfort.

“You know, I can’t even remember the last time I said his name out loud before meeting you.”

“Really?” Wildbreak asked, optics widening as a flustered heat started to build around his spark.

Knockout nodded, his helm rasping against the armor of Wildbreak’s arm as he hummed, “Mm-hm.”

“Didn’t you talk to anyone after it happened?”

“Who would I have talked to?” Knockout asked. “I was barely a step above Breakdown and only because I had medical skills. And, frankly, that never kept them from treating me like a punching bag when they needed one.”

Wildbreak couldn’t imagine a mech as handsome and charming as Knockout being so alone and abused, but the evidence was there clear as day in the bitter curl to Knockout’s lips.

“But uh, Dreadwing, right? He was the guy who told you the coordinates?”

“Because he was the only one amongst them who had a shred of decency, but he was blindly loyal until the day Megatron shot a hole through his spark.”

Wildbreak winced.

“One of the vehicons?”

That got an amused huff out of Knockout.

“You sound just like him sometimes.”

With a throbbing pulse of his spark, Wildbreak turned to look at Knockout fully. Knockout seemed just as surprised at the words that came out of his mouth, his optics staring straight ahead as he lifted his helm off Wildbreak’s shoulder, not daring to meet Wildbreak’s optics.

“What I mean is Breakdown got along with the vehicons,” Knockout said, clearly trying to hide how his plating heated where it met Wildbreak’s, “and he always wanted me to get to know them better. They honestly would have been my best choice. I think they missed him too.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Knockout shrugged.

“It took years before I let Breakdown in past my charming exterior. How could I have possibly let myself appear weak in front of some mecha I had only known for a few months?”

“You let me.”

It was hard to tell who was burning hotter where their plating met.

“Yes, well,” Knockout stammered, looking down to pick dirt from between the plates of his digits. “You’re easy to trust, I suppose. You don’t have a dishonest strut in your frame.”

“I lied to Motormaster to come with you,” Wildbreak admitted, and that just made Knockout smile.

“I’m honored to see I’m such a good influence on you.”

“That’s not what I meant–”

“I know, I know,” Knockout said as he peeked at Wildbreak out of the corner of his optic before returning to his digits. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this so you’ll have to forgive me.”

“What d’you mean ‘this’?”

“Being honest, opening up, all that nonsense,” Knockout said. He flicked his servo to scatter some of the dirt and debris that had come loose. “It just doesn’t come naturally to me.”

Wildbreak’s ridges knitted together as he replied, “But you’re – you’re good at talking.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Wildbreak. I am well aware of that.” Knockout finally looked at him again, flashing him a gorgeous grin, and it was only because of the circumstances that Wildbreak realized it was completely fake. “I know how to charm mecha. I just never got the hang of actually connecting with them.”

With a frown, Wildbreak asked, “You haven’t made any friends with the Autobots?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Bumblebee’s old teammates are shockingly lovely,” Knockout admitted as the exaggerated smile started to fade a bit. “And I’m sure they would love to hear all about the trauma I have from having spent most of my life as a Decepticon, and that’s why I’ll never tell them. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. Not when they don’t understand what it was like.”

Wildbreak remembered the anxiety he had felt when telling Knockout about his life with the Stunticons, the fear of judgment that ultimately never came.

“So you told me ‘cause I’m a Con.”

Finally the smile faded to a small, gentle curl of Knockout’s mouth.

“That’s a part of it, I suppose.”

Wildbreak’s spark raced in his chest, anxious and hopeful at once.

“And?”

Knockout’s ex-vent was amused sounding as he teased, “Greedy for compliments?”

“Is that bad?”

“Quite the opposite. Which means I’ll have to reward you with an actual answer, won’t I?” Despite his tone, Knockout’s optics returned to his digits, oddly shy as he looked for any dirt left to be picked out. Wildbreak waited as Knockout cycled a ventilation. “You really do remind me of him sometimes.”

And just like that, the racing of Wildbreak’s spark shifted from what his processor could understand to something that just resulted in errors.

“You mean Breakdown?”

Knockout nodded. “Sometimes you say things, or smile a certain way, or laugh just right, and it’s uncanny.”

_TELL HIM._

“Am I that much like him?”

“No. I mean, you’re sweet and too honest, and the paintjob similarity is almost scary,” Knockout replied as he flicked a few strands of grass from between his joints. “But you’re also like me in that you’re a coward. And I mean that as a compliment – I wish Breakdown hadn’t been so eager to run helm-first into a fight. Though you are even more trusting than he was which is honestly shocking and something I’m going to try to get you to break the habit of.”

_TELL HIM. TELL HIM._

“Besides, most importantly, Breakdown’s offline. I’d say that’s a rather important detail.”

_TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL—_

“Well, maybe I’m like, a reincarnation, or something weird like that,” Wildbreak stammered, anxious and hoping against hope that it would make his spark stop threatening to break out of its casing.

Knockout stilled. Even his ventilations stalled.

And then air whooshed from his vents.

“You’re giving Primus far too much credit,” Knockout insisted as he turned to look at Wildbreak. There was something almost comforting in the way his servo grasped Wildbreak’s arm. “Coincidences are just that.”

Coincidences didn’t explain the way Wildbreak’s spark ached.

Coincidences didn’t explain the way Knockout had hesitated.

But then Knockout reached his servo out to cup Wildbreak’s face.

“And I like you just the way you are.”

The ache of Wildbreak’s spark was, within seconds, utterly overwhelmed by the rush of flustered glee. Wildbreak could feel a smile tugging at his lips as he said, “Aww, shucks, Knockout. You mean it?”

Knockout snickered at him, but there was with nothing but warmth and a fondness in the way he looked at Wildbreak.

“Primus, you’re adorable,” Knockout murmured, and Wildbreak’s temperature skyrocketed, no doubt hot against Knockout’s servo and wherever their plating met. “Of course I mean it.”

“I-I like you too,” Wildbreak blurted. It felt like his spark was pulsating out of control, and it felt like it was all his, no weirdness he couldn’t understand, no mystery. Just Wildbreak and his feelings and Knockout’s ever growing smile. “I mean, that was probably pretty obvious, but I figured I should say it.”

Knockout’s thumb stroking along Wildbreak’s cheek had his vents hitching.

“I had figured that one out, but it’s still nice to hear. Though,” Knockout drawled as he leaned that much closer, “I haven’t been able to quite put my digit on the way you like me. Are you looking for a guardian? A friend? Perhaps even a lover?”

Wildbreak’s cooling fans whirled to life as his frame finally burned too hot, and his face twisted with shame.

“Oh, n-no, I would never – I don’t expect you to like me that way, ‘cause I know you loved Breakdown, so you don’t have to worry about any of that. I’m happy with what we got.”

Knockout’s optics were wide with surprise. Slowly though the surprise faded to leave him with the small, sad smile that always came with talking about Breakdown.

“I hadn’t realized I was that transparent. But you’re right,” Knockout admitted softly. His servo was still cupping Wildbreak’s face, keeping him from looking away. “I did love him. I still do, and unfortunately it seems that I’ll never be able to stop. I–” Knockout trailed off, optics flickering down for a moment, the corners of his lips tensing as he ex-vented heavily. “I miss him so much.”

“Knockout–”

“But he’s dead,” Knockout interrupted definitively, optics finding Wildbreak’s again. “I can love and miss him all I want, but he’s still dead and I’m still alive and so fragging lonely.”

Wildbreak’s spark ached with a regret that wasn’t his. And this time, the pushing of his spark was softer. Quieter. Begging instead of demanding.

_Tell him. Miss him._

“You shouldn’t be lonely,” Wildbreak murmured honestly. Knockout huffed and his digits stroked the side of his helm.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not when I’m with you.”

_Kiss him._

Wildbreak’s spark was finally in complete agreement with his processor for the first time that he could remember.

It was only when his mouth met Knockout’s a little too hard that Wildbreak realized what he was doing, and the muffled noise of surprise from Knockout mixed with the sting of impact caused embarrassment to race down Wildbreak’s lines as he jerked back.

“S-sorry, I’ve never – I don’t really know how to–”

Knockout chuckled.

“Hush,” Knockout murmured as his servo slipped behind Wildbreak’s helm. “You just surprised me.”

“But I really don’t know how to do this good.”

“That’s alright. I’ll teach you.”

When Knockout leaned in it was softly and gently, lips warm against Wildbreak’s. He couldn’t help gasping quietly because it was so nice, so unlike anything Wildbreak had ever felt, but also familiar in a way that had his spark pulsing with warmth.

Knockout’s digits trembled against the back of his neck.

Wildbreak pulled away again, concerned as he asked, “Knockout?”

Knockout’s digits tightened, though there was still a subtle quiver to his grasp.

“I haven’t done this since Breakdown,” Knockout confessed.

“ _Oh_.” Realization of where they were and just what they were doing hit Wildbreak and he felt guilt bubbling in his tanks. “Y-you don’t have to do this then.”

“Of course I don’t. But I–” Knockout glanced away then, abashed as he pulled further back. “But it’s hardly fair that you need put up with my—well, all of this.”

“I don’t mind.” Knockout’s gaze met Wildbreak’s again, surprised, and Wildbreak shrugged weakly. “I mean it. I really don’t mind. I just want to make sure  _you’re_  ok with this.”

Crimson optics flickered and for a moment Wildbreak swore he saw cleanser welling up in them.

And then Knockout was suddenly pushing up to his pedes, tugging at Wildbreak’s servos, insisting, “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m sure I can find a better place to show you a proper first time.”

Wildbreak easily let himself be pulled since he was eager to leave the clearing behind. Every step away left his spark lighter.

And then when Knockout finally stopped, whirling around, Wildbreak had only barely managed to keep from barreling into him. An apology was already on its way out of Wildbreak’s voicebox when Knockout’s servos braced against his shoulder, helping him find his balance.

As soon as Wildbreak had his footing, though, Knockout slid his arms around his neck and leaned in.

And Knockout was kissing him again. This time it was more insistent, desperate and passionate. Wildbreak’s processor stalled so he followed his first instincts as he embraced Knockout and tried to keep up, to kiss back even if it was clumsy.

And his spark finally settled in quiet contentment.

* * *

Wildbreak didn’t question how his digits knew where to slip past Knockout’s plating and stroke sensitive receptors that had Knockout gasping against his lips.

“Beginner’s luck,” Knockout had teased as he shuddered, plating flaring to give Wildbreak room to sink in further for deeper nodes. “But Primus, don’t stop.”

Wildbreak didn’t question that with the awe that came from staring up at Knockout in pleasure – handsome face all the more beautiful for it and his frame so gorgeous and tempting that Wildbreak’s engine purred without his permission –there was also a moment of déjà vu.

And Wildbreak didn’t dare question the flicker of confusion when Knockout was knelt between his thighs and could still reach his lips for a kiss.

“How do you want me?” Knockout murmured against his neck, nipping a fuel line that had Wildbreak gasping as his back arched.

“I-inside me. I don’t think I’d – hahh – be good at spiking.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll learn,” Knockout insisted as he pushed up to his elbows, bracketing Wildbreak’s helm, and watching with bright, eager optics as he rolled his hips. With another gasp and tremble, Wildbreak’s panels shifted away, desperate and unable to control himself, weak against the pleasure. “I’ll show you by example.”

It was teasing, Wildbreak knew that, and he should have tried to tease back, or laugh, or anything to maintain that lighter mood – but instead his servos clung as he turned his helm, trying to find Knockout’s lips to kiss again as he whined, barely louder than an ex-vent, “ _Please–!_ ”

Wildbreak didn’t question any of it because he desperately didn’t want to think anymore. About spark troubles or reincarnation or who he might have been; about his team or lingering injuries or the boss who gave them to him; about the terrible intersection that begged the question if Wildbreak was just going to live through the same mistakes and someday offline like Breakdown had – at the hands of a leader who would never truly care about him no matter how hard he tried.

He didn’t want to think about any of it.

Wildbreak just wanted to be here, now, with Knockout.

Thankfully, Knockout didn’t deny him. Knockout kissed him, and Wildbreak didn’t even know how many times they had kissed, or if he was any good at it now, but it was still soothing. When Knockout was kissing him, everything felt like it would be alright.

Knockout kissed Wildbreak as he slowly pushed inside him. And Knockout kissed him until Wildbreak’s frame was ready for him to move. And still Knockout kissed him while Wildbreak shuddered and bucked and clung to him as they fragged, choked by the overwhelming affection of his spark.

Until the wet drops hit Wildbreak’s face.

His optics onlined slowly, confused in the haze of pleasure, and that’s when Wildbreak saw the source. He pulled away from the kiss, panting against Knockout’s lips, managing, “K-Knockout?”

Knockout immediately jerked to a halt, his optics onlining quickly as shame crossed his handsome face. There was no mistaking the tears that were escaping or how the way his cooling systems heaved wasn’t just from their interfacing. He pushed up onto his servos, stammering, “Scrap, I’m sorry–”

“No, no, it’s ok! You don’t have to say sorry,” Wildbreak protested, reaching out to keep Knockout from retreating further and trying to tug him back in. “Should we stop? I didn’t mean to push you if you didn’t want to–”

“It’s not that,” Knockout insisted, scrubbing at his face with one servo, clearly embarrassed. “I do, and you’re fine, you’re so good – Primus, I–”

“You what?”

A fresh wave of cleanser spilled down Knockout’s cheeks as he murmured, “I didn’t think I’d get a chance to feel like this again.”

Wildbreak would swear his spark was swelling, filling his chest until it was choking him, and still pushing harder as if trying to reach further. It couldn’t reach though, not the way his servos could, pulling Knockout close while he pushed himself away from the ground, moving to hold Knockout as close as their frames could allow.

“I love you,” escaped Wildbreak, spark and processor in agreement, and he felt the way that Knockout shuddered and his hips rocked.

“Don’t say that.” Knockout’s optics were wide and wet but his servos grasped Wildbreak tight, like he never wanted to let go, and his spark was pulsing so hard that Wildbreak felt the vibrations of Knockout’s chest against his own.

Wildbreak kissed Knockout, shifting so he straddled Knockout’s lap, took Knockout inside again as they both gasped at the pleasure.

“I love you, Knockout.”

Knockout kissed Wildbreak, picking up their rhythm again while clutching at each other.

Knockout still had tears streaming down his face and Wildbreak was desperately ignoring the the déjà vu that came with telling Knockout he loved him. But he wouldn’t have asked to be anywhere else doing anything else with anyone else.

So Wildbreak let himself drown in Knockout’s kisses and the sound of his name – “Wildbreak, frag,  _Wildbreak_ ” – on Knockout’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself to reply to comments this week but I've been so busy. But gosh gosh gosh thank you all so much. ;o; It means so much. 
> 
> I'm updating earlier than I had planned since I'll continue to be v busy this weekend. I hope y'all have a good one and enjoyed this very emotional chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t want to go back.”

Knockout’s arms tightened around Wildbreak’s middle and he nuzzled the back of Wildbreak’s neck.

“Then don’t. Come back with me to the Autobots.”

“Will they actually take me?”

Wildbreak was squeezed tight, his back completely covered and his legs tangled with Knockout’s. The forest floor wasn’t ideal, but with Knockout curled around him, Wildbreak felt more comfortable than he had in years. Maybe ever.

“Yes.”

“But I’m a criminal to them. I doubt they’ll want me.”

“You don’t have to worry about any of that. I’ve already pulled some strings,” Knockout insisted. “They’ll take you.”

Wildbreak curled up tighter and Knockout moved with him, keeping him blanketed.

“Are they nice?”

Knockout didn’t reply right away and truthfully, Wildbreak appreciated the thought that Knockout was putting into his answer.

“It will take time for them to warm up to you. But eventually, yes, they’ll play nice.”

Digits threaded together with ease.

“Can’t I just stay with you?”

Knockout’s servo squeezed Wildbreak’s.

“Would you want to?”

“Yeah.”

Knockout buried his face into the crook of Wildbreak’s neck and he held Wildbreak just that much tighter.

“And mecha call me a speed demon.” Knockout kissed Wildbreak’s plating. “You’ll have to stay with Bumblebee’s team first to get your record cleared. Then we can talk about the next step.”

‘We’ sounded beautiful in Knockout’s rich voice.

“Ok. But only if you go with me.”

Knockout’s engine purred.

“Sounds like we have a deal.”

* * *

It had been easy to agree with Knockout in the warmth and safety of his arms. A new life seemed completely plausible in the afterglow of new pleasure and experience and love. And there was no denying that Wildbreak wanted nothing more than to stay with Knockout.

Wildbreak trusted Knockout.

But Wildbreak still wasn’t sure he could trust the Autobots.

And Wildbreak definitely wasn’t sure he could trust a whole new life.

Each mile they drove away from the forest had Wildbreak flipping between his choices. He loved Knockout, wanted this life, wanted to not feel like he was walking through a minefield. But the Stunticons, for all the pain that came with them, were safe. They hurt but never abandoned, yelled but never let Wildbreak starve. And they were capable of kindness. Dragstrip could be great company when he wanted to be, fun and caring, protective even. No matter how upset he was with Wildbreak, there was always a spot at his side for him.

But Knockout had a place for him too, offered without Wildbreak having to suffer through the bad times for it.

But–

“I can hear you thinking from here.”

Wildbreak’s engine spluttered, but Knockout was kind enough to not poke fun.

“S-sorry. Just, uh, a lot to think about. Not that I’m seriously reconsidering or anything, I just–”

“It’s ok. Switching teams is, in a word, terrifying,” Knockout said, like it was just a statement of fact. And that settled the anxiety overwhelming Wildbreak to hear. “I would be shocked if you weren’t.”

“Is it weird that that makes me feel better?”

That had Knockout chuckling, barely audible over their engines but enough to warm Wildbreak’s spark.

“Nope. That sounds just right. You want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think you want to hear some of the things I’m thinking ‘bout.”

Knockout swerved close, but only enough for a slight bump, chiding without hurting.

“I’ve got thick plating.”

Wildbreak’s chassis still felt tight, expecting his thoughts and feelings to be dismissed.

“You sure?”

“After all the scrap I dumped on you last night, it’s the least I can do.”

So Wildbreak did.

It was a slow and stilted process, both because the words were hard to find, and once found were hard to admit aloud, and even worst still was that moment when Wildbreak expected the dismissal. For Knockout to shrug it off, tell him he was wrong, and move onto something else.

But he didn’t.

Even when Wildbreak talked about his team’s good points, about how he still cared for Dragstrip despite it all, was afraid he would come to miss him, miss the team that mocked and beat him.

Knockout didn’t dismiss his feelings.

Knockout listened. Knockout prompted Wildbreak when he stopped, overcome with the need to apologize.

And when they stopped for an energon break and Wildbreak murmured a quiet request for a hug, Knockout held him tight.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, I swear, I just–”

“It’s scary.” Wildbreak shuddered as he tried to press their frames closer together, nodding against Knockout’s neck. Knockout hummed comfortingly. “It’s alright to be scared.”

Wildbreak hadn’t meant to start crying. He hadn’t wanted to let his feelings slip out, showing how vulnerable he was, how weak.

But he had never been told it was ok before.

Wildbreak tried to stifle the sound, choke it down; he was desperate to keep it to himself, hoping that Knockout wouldn’t notice.

But then Knockout was stroking his helm, pulling him closer instead of pushing away, saying again, “It’s alright.”

And there was relief that Wildbreak had never felt before in knowing he wouldn’t be punished for crying.

Wildbreak wouldn’t be punished for being himself.

* * *

It was weird to listen to Knockout talking over his comm.

“You got it in one. He’s leaving the Stunticons and you  _are_  going to accept him into the fold.”

It was weird to know that Knockout talked about him to someone else.

“No. It’ll be better if we get there the long way. Gives you time to talk to that new forged class you call a team.”

It was weird that that someone else was the very cop that had tried to arrest him and Dragstrip not that long ago.

“Yeah, yeah, I told him about you all.”

Bumblebee, Knockout had told him. Bumblebee, who had been on Team Prime and was now a cop. And there were all the Autobots on his team. Sideswipe and Strongarm and Drift, but Drift also came with a couple minicons, and then yet another minibot named Fixit. And there was another ex-con, which was comforting. Maybe they wouldn’t be so bad?

“Perfect. See you when we see you.”

Wildbreak was going to become an Autobot, and it was weird, but with it came a hope he couldn’t quite name.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too hard after all.

* * *

::Looks like you missed a turn there, ol’ pal.::

Wildbreak’s spark went cold in his chassis, which was all the time his team needed.

Knockout had been in the lead and Wildbreak watched in horror as with a loud roar of an engine, a flash of yellow and purple sped out from the woods, skidding as it slammed into Knockout’s side. Knockout was no match for the power of Dragstrip’s booster rockets, plating crumpling as he was forced off the road to slam front-first into a tree at high velocity.

Before Wildbreak could swerve off, however, Dragstrip suddenly slowed to be right next to him, between him and the side of the road where Knockout had been thrown.

And with twin engines revving, Heatseeker was at his other side while Slashmark drove right up to his bumper, pushing him forward when Wildbreak tried to break.

He was completely surrounded and Knockout was left further and further behind.

“Well, well, well, look at you, Wildbreak! Who knew you had it in you to swap paint with the enemy?” Dragstrip teased, but there was no humor in it. He didn’t need to have his face out for Wildbreak to know how furious he was.

Wildbreak tried to break again, and this time Slashmark revved hard enough that when they clashed, Wildbreak’s back tires were temporarily lifted off the asphalt and his bumper crushed.

“Is that why you got this new fancy get up? Trying to impress your Autobot lover?”

“Too good to look like the rest of us, huh, hot shot?”

“Did he tell you that ya looked real purdy, Wildbreak?”

Wildbreak’s spark throbbed painfully as he tried instead to bump up against Heatseeker to escape. All he got for his effort was another deep dent and gash.

“W-wait, hold on, it’s not like all that–”

“Then what  _is_ it like?” Dragstrip growled and yes, there it was. The true indignation that Wildbreak had been expecting. He pressed in closer, the shrill shriek of plating grinding against plating not managing to drown out the panicked pounding of Wildbreak’s systems. “Because right now,  _old buddy_ , it looks like you were thinking of abandoning your friends. But you wouldn’t do that, would ya, Wildbreak?”

Heatseeker and Slashmark closed the distance as well, choking Wildbreak with claustrophobia as they all continued to race down the road while pressed in tight against his frame. Worst still was the glimpse of freedom ahead of him, but Wildbreak knew he couldn’t outrace all three of them. He wouldn’t stand a chance. They’d just pound him into the asphalt and drag him back.

Wildbreak’s engine whined, and he knew it was pathetic. It was weak and cowardly and pathetic.

Primus did he hope that Knockout was alright; that he had turned tail and ran as far from the Stunticons as he could; that at least Knockout was safe.

“C’mon, Dragstrip, I-I wouldn’t – you know I wouldn’t, I just – my spark–”

“Again with that damned spark of yours?!”

Wildbreak’s plating shuddered and he knew they could all feel it.

“I know, it’s dumb and I know that and I’m s-sorry, but I had to meet him. It wasn’t ‘cause I don’t care about you guys, I swear it. You know I wouldn’t leave ya, Dragstrip, so  _please_.”

“Had to meet withan Autobot? Do you really think we’re that dumb?” Slashmark asked with an irritated huff of his vents.

“We all know what that kind of scrap means,” Heatseeker added snidely.

“You was gonna leave us for that Autobot scum,” Dragstrip accused without doubt in his voice. “You was gonna leave us, so you better get with telling me why, after all I’ve ever done for you, you’d leave me for some pretty little sports car.”

Wildbreak’s engine guttered.

“Please, Drag–”

With a loud rev, Dragstrip suddenly moved ahead just enough that he had time to transform and engage his rocket boasters. Wildbreak slammed on his breaks, but it didn’t stop Dragstrip from colliding into him shoulder first and sending his frame flying over his teammate. Wildbreak didn’t transform fast enough to get his footing, instead tumbling helm over pedes across the road, pain blooming with each bounce and skid.

By the time Wildbreak finally came to a stop, optics wide as he scrambled, a pede slammed down on his back to push him back into the unforgiving asphalt.

And then there was Dragstrip crouching in front of him, dentae gritted in a tight scowl.

“Don’t make us beat it out of you. You know I hate having to do that.”

Wildbreak felt the cleanser fluid start to well in his optics and shook his helm to try to flick it away before it was noticed.

“There’s nothin’ to tell, I swear it–!”

Dragstrip’s fist hit the road with a loud crunch, cracks growing out from the impact, and that was the last that Wildbreak saw before he clenched his optics shut to fight back any more tears.

“ _Tell me_!”

Wildbreak’s vents hiccupped a choked sob. He was so stupid, so  _fragging_ stupid and weak and–

“I’m sorry.”

The air was tense before Dragstrip ex-vented long and low. Wildbreak flinched when he felt something touch his cheek, but Dragstrip just clucked his glossa and reached out to tip his chin up with a gentleness that belied everything else about the encounter.

“Cut the waterworks, ya wimp. You know I get mad, but it’s ‘cause I care, and I just wanna take care of you. I always do, don’t I?” Wildbreak nodded, optics still hooded as he looked at the servo holding up his helm, not daring to meet Dragstrip’s gaze. “See? So just tell your old pal what happened and I’ll take care of it. Motormaster doesn’t need to know or nothing. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t. What sounded nice was being with Knockout. His spark  _ached_ for Knockout.

But he should have known better than to think he could have Knockout.

“You promise you won’t tell?”

“Course I won’t. You’re my partner, aren’t ya?”

Wildbreak squirmed under the pede still pinning him, wanting desperately to keep it all to himself. If he could have, he would have just let Dragstrip take out his anger until he was over it, simply dismissing it. It wouldn’t be the first time. But if Motormaster knew—

Dragstrip got angry, but he wasn’t cruel like Motormaster.

The overwhelming fear of reliving Breakdown’s demise choked him.

It took everything that Wildbreak had to hold back his sorrow as he offlined his optics and croaked out, “I–I love him, Dragstrip.”

There was stunned silence. The only sounds that Wildbreak could pick up were the startled choking of engines and his own vents heaving.

Dragstrip let go of his chin and stood.

“Heatseeker, keep him here, will ya?”

“Not a problem,” Heatseeker replied, his pede pressing down that much harder as he did. But Wildbreak hardly noticed as he snapped his optics online and desperately tried to turn his helm to follow Dragstrip.

“W-wait, hold on, where’re you going? Dragstrip, wait!”

“Don’t worry, pal. I’ll be right back,” Dragstrip said with a growl of his engine. “Just gotta finish what I started with your little friend and then this will all be over.”

Wildbreak’s chest filled with panic and dread and  _fear_  so strong it felt as if it was filling his lines, coursing through every inch of his frame. He thrashed under Heatseeker’s weight, shouting, “ _No_! Please, I promise I won’t see him again, just let him go–!”

“Now hold on, why don’t I getta smash ‘im? Slashmark, you keep the pipsqueak here, and I’ll help with the trash.”

“He didn’t do nothing! You don’t have to do nothing to him!” Wildbreak braced his arms against the asphalt, trying with all his strength to push up. This time, Heatseeker used his full weight and strength as he slammed his pede down, and Wildbreak could feel his back plating buckling and the delicate workings beneath get crushed and jabbed by the sharp edges.

“Careful!” Dragstrip snapped. “Trash him too bad and Motormaster will ask questions. You gotta stay here if he’s gonna throw a fit like that. But maybe I’ll drag lover-boy back so you can get some shots in.”

“Please! Dragstrip, please, just leave him alone!”

“ _Would you shut up already_?!”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about dragging anyone anywhere,” Slashmark interrupted casually, as if he was above what was happening. “Sounds like he’s coming to us.”

A chill raced through Wildbreak as he finally noticed the engine he knew all too well.

“No! No no no no  _no_ –”

And around the corner sped a flash of crimson that Wildbreak could have recognized anywhere. It didn’t take long for Knockout to transform, skidding on his pedes as he pulled his staff from behind his back. Knockout’s optics were burning bright as his engine snarled.

“Come now, boys,” he crooned in a voice that utterly belied the fact that every inch of his frame shifted and moved like a fighter. The smirk was nearly feral looking in the situation as he spun his staff expertly before slamming the butt of it against the concrete with a thud. “Let’s not make a scene about this.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that, pretty boy.” Dragstrip tipped his helm one way and then the other, stretching the tubing of his neck while he flexed his servos into fists. He stalked forward and Slashmark wasn’t far behind. “But thanks for making it easier to find you. We can get right to pounding you into scrap metal.”

First came another overwhelming rush of fear – and that Wildbreak knew all too well, knew it like he knew the sound of his own engine and the feeling of road under his tires.

“Go _!_ ” Wildbreak begged as he gave another jerk where he was pinned. “Get out of here!”

Knockout gave his staff another spin as he shifted into a defensive position, scowling, because he was outnumbered, out powered, out of his depth, but he wasn’t running, why wasn’t he running—

And then Wildbreak’s spark gave a thundering wave of  _rage_.

_LOVE HIM. **PROTECT HIM.**_

All at once, the chill of fear evaporated as his spark  _burned_  and that furor raced along his circuits, onlining his battle protocols in a rush.

“ _Don’t!_ ”

It only took a moment to trigger his field and send it out as far as it would go. Heatseeker’s pede wavered, weakened enough to barely keep his own weight up, which meant he was defenseless against Wildbreak shoving up. With a stumble, Wildbreak was free and further shoved Heatseeker to send him toppling over for good measure before starting into a run. He barreled past Slashmark, hitting him hard with his shoulder to send him down onto his knees.

And then there was Dragstrip, wobbly-kneed but optics burning with incredulous fury.

“What the scrap–?!”

And then Wildbreak found his fist slamming into his partner’s face.

The field flickered as it powered down and all around him were Wildbreak’s teammates, disoriented and huddled on the ground, and it was because of him.

Knockout stared at him with wide optics and Wildbreak felt just as shocked himself.

His teammates were shaking off the effects of his field already though which snapped Wildbreak back to attention.

“You gotta get outta here!” Wildbreak shouted with a wave of his servo.

But Knockout took quick steps forward to grasp Wildbreak’s servo and yank insistently. “I’m not leaving without you!”

Wildbreak’s processor stalled but his spark swelled with warmth.

He took a step towards Knockout.

And that was when the large and terrifying familiar engine growled from behind him.

Wildbreak didn’t need to turn, didn’t need to look, didn’t need to see the towering figure emerge from the woods; didn’t need to see the dangerous shade of disappointment on his face as he took in the Stunticons stumbling to their pedes, didn’t need to see the scowl when he zeroed in on Wildbreak hand-in-hand with an Autobot.

“And here I thought the lot of you could fix this mess yourselves. Guess I gotta do everything around here myself, don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy y'all! Sorry for the delay!! Had that bad writing funk and then once out of it I had some fics to write for folks and some to get outta my head. But now I'm back to business. <3
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support and comments and kudos! Y'all are why this fic is still going tbfh and I love you all for it.


	6. Chapter 6

Dragstrip had been the first mech to pay Wildbreak any mind after he was forged. Oh, certainly there was the welcome team, the initiation classes, everything that any newly forged mech would be faced with. But their smiles were the same for everyone. They didn’t mean anything. They felt hollow, almost like indulgence or pandering.

But Dragstrip had slapped him on the shoulder and dragged him into the same initiation class as him, all with a smile just for Wildbreak as he said, “What’s your name, new buddy?”

Wildbreak had followed Dragstrip because he was oddly charming in a rough way; he had bombarded Wildbreak with attention and a singular focus; he had picked Wildbreak.

Dragstrip picked him and charmed him and so it had been easy to follow him.

Motormaster, from the moment Dragstrip had introduced Wildbreak to him and they made optic contact that first time, simply acted as if Wildbreak already belonged to him. Wildbreak hadn’t been brave enough to ever disagree.

And now, here, caught between Knockout and Motormaster, he was desperately worried he still wasn’t.

“Run,” Wildbreak croaked out as his servo went lax in Knockout’s hold. “You have to run, please–”

“Shut up, Wildbreak,” Motormaster snapped. Wildbreak’s lips sealed instantly as he looked at Knockout pleadingly. There were loud footfalls behind him, and despite his begging Knockout squeezed his servo tighter and pulled him away from Motormaster while he stepped between them.

Wildbreak finally turned to see Motormaster and it was just as he had expected. The Chief’s optics were hard as he stepped past the other Stunticons, ignoring their hurried apologies as they ducked and stepped back from him.

Dragstrip’s optics still burned with fury but years of abuse kept him silent.

“Motormaster,” Knockout sneered.

Motormaster gave him an unkind smirk, replying simply, “Knockout.”

Wildbreak’s processor stalled as his optics went wide. His mouth opened but nothing could squeak through the vice grip of his intake.

“You know ‘im, boss?” Dragstrip asked and Motormaster nodded.

“We got a history,” Motormaster said as his optics searched Knockout’s frame. “Should have known it was just a matter of time before you came poking around in my business again, Doc.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you had a lick of empathy in that black hole you call a spark.”

Motormaster acted as if he hadn’t heard the comment as he took one step closer, his mouth more snarl than smile.

“Wasn’t enough for you to snap up one of my old castoffs and get ‘im killed, huh? Decided to go ahead and try to steal ‘im from under my nose this time.”

Knockout’s plating clamped in tight and he grimaced as if he had been physically stricken. And Wildbreak would have come to his defense – to argue as he had before it wasn’t Knockout’s fault, it wasn’t! – but his processor had stalled.

“Wha—what d’you mean?” Wildbreak asked tentatively.

Motormaster’s smirk only grew, his optics never leaving Knockout. “Didn’t he tell you? Knockout here loves a roll in the berth with a Stunticon, don’t ya?”

This time Knockout bristled, snapping, “Breakdown wasn’t a Stunticon anymore.”

Wildbreak’s spark nearly came to a standstill in his chest. Breakdown–

“Once a Stunticon, always a Stunticon.”

–Breakdown had been a Stunticon?–

“Could you  _be_ more self-important, you oversized–”

–Breakdown had also been under Motormaster’s control?

“He came back to me, didn’t he?”

That drew Knockout up short, his face twisted with bewilderment, and Wildbreak’s spark thrashed against its casing.

“Are you that really that delusional?” Knockout asked with furrowed ridges. “He never went back.”

Then, for the first time since he had shown himself, Motormaster looked at Wildbreak, giving him that same smile he had when they had met: confident and possessive. Wildbreak’s spark was pulsing hard enough he could feel each throb echoing in his chest.

“As if you hadn’t noticed. ‘Course, it helps that I knew Breakdown in a way you never did.” Motormaster took another step closer and Knockout shifted to stand directly in front of Wildbreak, engine growling warningly. Motormaster didn’t even blink as he still stared at Wildbreak. “Before he got that big fancy frame of his, when he was just a paranoid little loser who did as he was told.” Another step. Knockout lifted his staff and pushed back against Wildbreak, as if trying to get him to move back, but still Motormaster didn’t appear to care and Wildbreak felt frozen to the spot under his leader’s gaze. “Same colors, same size.” Motormaster lifted a servo to tap the side of his helm. “And I’d know those optics anywhere.

Wildbreak could feel the way Knockout shuddered.

“It’s just a coincidence.”

Motormaster  _laughed_  and Wildbreak felt sick dread and comprehension overwhelm him.

“A coincidence? No. Fate saw fit to bring him back to me,” Motormaster said, as if it were obvious, as if Wildbreak didn’t feel like he was breaking apart from the inside out when Motormaster looked at him like that. Looked at him the way he had looked at  _him_. “Isn’t that right, Breakdown?”

Wildbreak didn’t feel his knees buckle and fail, didn’t feel his knees hit the asphalt, didn’t feel Knockout’s servo against his shoulder, shaking him, yelling at him.

All he saw was Motormaster’s optics. Victorious and possessive and cruelly familiar.

But then Knockout was there, yanking his helm sharply to the side to look at him, just at him, calling—his name? Breakdown’s new name?—

“Wildbreak!!”

And in a rush, the messages his spark had desperately tried to tell his processor came together.

_REACH OUT. TOUCH HIM. HOLD HIM. MISS HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL—_

Wildbreak’s servo shook as it touched Knockout’s cheek.

_LOVE HIM. PROTECT HIM._

“He—I-I, or he, or—this wasn’t what he w-wanted,” Wildbreak stammered weakly, his lips trembling as his vocalizer threatened to fail him. Knockout’s optics widened further and Motormaster’s engine choked. But looking at Knockout caused his spark to send pulses of strength that felt both foreign and very much his. Wildbreak rebooted his vocalizer and looked up at Knockout, his voice still quiet but no longer wavering. “He–he missed you so much.”

Knockout went completely still, his ventilations choked, optics starting to flicker and waver and his servos starting to quiver.

And Motormaster’s engine  _roared_  with fury.

“You’re  _mine_ ,” Motormaster hissed and Wildbreak’s shoulder armor creaked as his leader’s huge servo grasped him tight enough to crush. His frame was yanked up and off the ground with ease. Panic set in immediately as Wildbreak’s servos reached back towards Knockout, even as Motormaster shook him. “I won’t let you go again!  _You’re mine_.”

Knockout moved swiftly and suddenly, his staff nothing more than a blur and sparks and then Motormaster was shouting as Wildbreak was dropped back to the ground. Distantly he heard his teammates breaking their intimidated silence at the sign of their Boss being attacked, but most of his focus was on Knockout. His dentae were gritted as he kept his staff pressed deep into Motormaster’s plating, bright blue arcs of charge spiting from it where it was electrocuting Motormaster, causing him to jerk and twitch and fall heavily to his knees.

“ _Go_!” Knockout shouted as his pedes shifted to keep his balance as Motormaster thrashed. Barely a second passed before Motormaster grasped the staff and with a shrill crunch the staff was crushed and bent. Motormaster yanked it from Knockout’s hold with a roar.

But that left Knockout’s servo open for Wildbreak to grab and yank.

“Come on!”

Thankfully,  _finally_ , Knockout didn’t need any convincing. He swiveled on his pede and together the two of them made a run for it before transforming into their alts. The transition was painful – Wildbreak could feel his bent armor cutting across more delicate components and grinding against other twisted pieces as they tried to fit together all wrong – but Wildbreak bit back the sound of pain as his tires hit the asphalt and they were off.

The roar of Motormaster’s engine was echoed by the rest of the Stunticons.

Wildbreak really didn’t think he could outrace his entire team. But he tried as he kept up with Knockout, pushing his systems to their fullest, using every ounce of strength his frame had left.

And Knockout—

“You better have that classroom you call a team ready right now or I swear I’ll rip you apart piece by piece!” Knockout snarled, and Wildbreak couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the frag the doctor was talking about, or if it was even to him at all.

But there wasn’t much time to say anything before a swirling blue vortex opened up before them and Wildbreak nearly spun out as he swerved to avoid crashing into the giant green mech rushing out of it. By the time he had his tires under him and under control, he could see it wasn’t just any green mech, but in fact the Dinobot who had defected, and he was quickly flanked by the rest of his new Autobot team.

The Autobot team that was forming a line between Wildbreak and the Stunticons.

“Hold it right there, Stunticons!” the yellow one – Bumblebee – shouted, and Wildbreak couldn’t help jumping out of his alt mode, every line in his frame ready to fight or escape.

But while there were a couple of suspicious looks from the other Autobots, they had their backs to him and none made a move towards him.

“Come  _on_!” Knockout insisted with a fierce tug on Wildbreak’s wrist, pulling him towards the vortex that still roared, leading to somewhere unseen and unknown.

And then Wildbreak glanced back towards the team he knew.

Motormaster hadn’t slowed his massive alt mode at all, forcing Grimlock to rush forward and make a swing with his massive tail to give Motormaster little other choice than to finally shift into his root mode and grapple with the powerful Dinobot. Most of the other Bots were quick to focus on either Slashmark or Heatseeker, clearly aiming to keep the two apart and unable to combine. Dragstrip had nearly managed to slip through the chaos, but Bumblebee had blocked him.

However, Dragstrip’s optics met and held Wildbreak’s. They were overbright with equal parts rage and fear.

“You can’t just leave us! You can’t leave  _me_!”

And, despite every ache and pain in his frame and spark, Wildbreak’s resolve nearly shattered then and there.

Dragstrip wanted him at his side.  _Needed_  him there.

This could destroy Dragstrip.

“Wildbreak!”

There was another sharp tug at his servo, and when Wildbreak finally managed to rip his gaze away from Dragstrip it was to see Knockout looking at him with such frantic concern. Not for his own wellbeing – not like Dragstrip looked – but for Wildbreak’s.

And his spark pulsed again.

 _STAY WITH HIM_.

And when Knockout rushed through the vortex, Wildbreak followed.

* * *

“And he just conked out? Just like that?” Sideswipe said, his shoulders drooping in obvious disappointment. Not that Russell could blame him – he had been pretty excited about a new team member. And it  _had_ been briefly exciting to see the bot in person.

But Wildbreak had looked pretty badly beat up, and after a quick scan of the yard and the remaining team members, his eyes had flickered and dimmed until they went out completely and Knockout had had to shoulder his entire weight.

“Yeah. I’m not totally sure what happened, but Knockout said something to Fixit about, uh – overclocking, I think?”

That got a wince out of Sideswipe.

“Yikes.”

“Is that bad? Like, really bad?” Russell asked, noting the way that Sideswipe glanced towards the other end of the yard. There was an aisle there with a dead end that had become their makeshift medical room when any of the team members needed somewhere to go for any repairs they were uncomfortable receiving around everyone else or for recovering in peace.

Wildbreak had been taken back there and Russell hadn’t seen him since.

“I mean, some bots overclock easy, I guess,” Sideswipe said, tapping the side of his head, “but it’s super rare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody actually overclock before.”

“But what does that even mean anyway?” Russell pushed. Sideswipe grimaced, tilting his head as he did so, appearing to think hard about it.

“I dunno exactly. It’s just like – like your processor can’t actually process all the stuff you’re thinking about, so it just shuts you down.”

“You’re actually not wrong for once, Sideswipe,” Strongarm said, more praise than mockery in her tone as she walked up beside them. Sideswipe still pursed his lips as he gave her a nasty look, but she shrugged it off as she looked down at Russell and continued, “Though it  _is_ a little more complicated than that. Our processors can handle a lot, and generally they’re good at pausing excess process trees if there’s any threat of overclocking. Sometimes though, circumstances don’t allow for any process trees to be ignored, like in an emergency, so the processor is pushed past its normal abilities, which we call overclocking.”

“Oh,” Russell said, his brows furrowing as he tried to understand it all. “So him passing out wasn’t overclocking?”

“No, but it was likely a result of it. Once that mech’s threat analysis decides they’re safe enough to finally do so, they can go into a partial or full shut down so their frame can assess the damage and undergo self-repair.”

“And how are  _you_ such an expert, huh?” Sideswipe questioned. Instead of looking peeved like she might normally, Strongarm’s lips curled into something almost sad looking.

“I was taught to keep an optic out for overclocking in trauma victims. The worse the emergency or trauma, the more likely they’ll shut down.”

Sideswipe winced and Russell couldn’t help looking back over towards the tall stacks hiding Wildbreak.

“Slag. Guess we really  _should_ be nice to him, huh?”

“Of course! The lieutenant told us to,” Strongarm scolded.

The rest of the bickering was white noise though as Russell slipped away, unable to contain his curiosity and concern any longer. The Bots couldn’t exactly sneak around the yard, but it was easy for Russell. He knew every nook and cranny he could fit through in the stacks, making it far too easy for him to sneak around without anyone noticing.

And good thing too – as he slipped between a couple of antique refrigerators, Russell heard Bumblebee before he tipped his head just enough to peek at the scene before him.

“—he’ll be ok?”

“I’m a medic, aren’t I?” Knockout replied flatly. Russell had only really met him properly once, and Knockout had seemed completely unimpressed to be introduced to Russell and Denny. Russell might have agreed that his dad’s yard was more junk than treasure, but he had still been annoyed when Knockout had sneered at it all and brushed off his dad thoughtlessly. It was obvious he just didn’t like humans at all considering he was more way more charming with the other Autobots.

Russell didn’t like him. At all. He was a stuck up jerk.

Yet Bumblebee was looking down at where Knockout was actively working on Wildbreak’s frame, his eyebrows furrowed with real concern.

“Well, sure, I don’t doubt that. But I didn’t mean just physically.” Knockout’s mouth tightened into a thin line as his tools sparked where he was welding metal. After a moment of silence beyond the whining of tools, Bumblebee’s frown deepened. “Knockout–”

“I’m not a fortuneteller. We’ll all just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Bumblebee shifted on his pedes.

“Are  _you_  ok?”

Knockout sneered as he shut off the welder, though his optics never looked up from Wildbreak’s frame, just moving on to the next bit of crumpled and torn metal.

“Banged up, obviously, and  _someone_ owes me a buff and wax once I’ve gotten myself straightened out.”

“Of course. But again, I’m not asking about just physically.”

Knockout stilled that time and his eyes flared bright for a moment. Russell was pretty sure though that Bumblebee wouldn’t have been able to see that from where he stood.

“It hasn’t been nearly long enough since the war for a little scuffle to rattle my plating.”

Yet Bumblebee didn’t look convinced. His mouth was still curved down as he said, “I’m not blind, Knockout. Something has you shaken.” When Knockout didn’t reply, ignoring him as he set the welder burning again, Bumblebee’s face twisted for a moment with indecision before he blurted out, “Is it ‘cause it was the Stunticons? You have a history there, right?”

The welder snapped off. Knockout’s expression twisted in a pained snarl.

“That’s none of your business,  _Bot_.”

Bumblebee winced, but still, he pressed, “But it could be. If you wanted to talk about it.”

And maybe it wasn’t just irritation and fury twisting Knockout’s expression. His eyebrows were tightly knitted with thought as his eyes shifted up towards Wildbreak’s face.

A moment passed, and then another. And then finally, with a long sigh, something almost like a smile pulled at Knockout’s lips though it was too sad looking.

“I suppose he’d want me to.”

That only seemed to confuse Bumblebee, his eyebrows furrowing deeper, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, waiting, and the silence stretched on so long that even Russell was starting to get impatient where he was hidden.

Finally, Knockout moved.

He put the welder down and, slowly, carefully, placed his hand on Wildbreak’s chest. His fingers traced some invisible lines that Russell couldn’t see from where he was, though Bumblebee’s eyes followed intently, curious and understanding at once.

Every harsh line of Knockout’s face softened, leaving him looking surprisingly vulnerable.

“Do you–” Knockout stopped, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He breathed deeply and stroked Wildbreak’s chest again.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks in like I haven't left this to sit for months*
> 
> Sorry for the delay, y'all. This fic has a more melancholy feel to it and for a while there I just couldn't get back into the mindset for finish this chapter. But luckily the skies parted and here we are.
> 
> Hopefully it won't take as long for the next chapter, which I believe will be the last chapter. We're in the final stretch now.
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience and support. It really is because of your comments and kudos that I stayed motivated to come back to this bad boy and chip away at it, so thank you so, so, so much. It's thanks to you that this chapter exists. <3


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